Don't Ask, Don't Tell
by holadios
Summary: Cameron's caught in an abusive relationship with someone she thought she knew. What will she do when someone else begins to notice? Eventually CameronHouse. COMPLETE.
1. Impossible Possibilities

It wasn't supposed to be like this. Relationships were supposed to be happy and carefree. They were supposed to make _her_ feel happy. She was supposed to feel loved. She was supposed to feel safe.

It had started so well in the beginning. He had been her friend for over two years, someone she had talked to first at work, and then over a few dinners. Gradually, they had progressed into a relationship, the transition made easy by the fact they already knew so much about each other. It was a relationship that could work, she thought. They had the same schedule, the same impossible schedule that kept them working early until late, but at least they were working together.

And then slowly, something had changed. Work had changed, gotten more stressful. They were expected to produce more at work; their work was judged at a higher standard. Mistakes were taken more seriously; they had been there for some time now. She understood when he was upset, when all he wanted to do was get drunk, and she might have done the same thing had she been on that side of the bellowing conversation that was House's reprimand of him. She could understand; she could relate. She couldn't really blame him the first time he hit her.

By the second or third time, she wasn't so sure about her excuses, and by the time it became regular, she knew something was wrong. But it was too late; there was nothing she could do. It had been going on too long, and he was always too smart for her, forcing her to hide the bruises in places no one would ever see them. Her doctor coat was long, the sleeves were long, and it, along with her regular clothes, covered most of her body. He was always careful never to touch her face or her neck, because those places could be seen.

No one would believe her, he had told her. And he was probably right. She had to work so hard to be noticed at work, to make it through the day without being ridiculed more than two or three times. She wasn't about to contribute to that image by painting herself as some kind of damsel in distress.

So she was reduced to hiding. She was reduced to holding her breath every time he brushed past her. Every time he looked at her, she could see the cold look in his eye calculating his next attack. She could practically see him imagining what he would do to her next. He sat next to her now, pretending to listen to House rant about another patient, but she knew he wasn't focused in the least. She couldn't think about the patient at hand; she was too distracted by the far away look in his eyes…

She drew a breath and winced when she felt her chest tighten ominously. Her eyes flitted up to House quickly, hoping that he hadn't noticed anything, but he wasn't looking at her, and he didn't say anything. She brought a hand to her ribs and touched them gingerly. They felt broken, but she couldn't do anything about it. She couldn't visit anyone in the hospital, because that would be too obvious, and she didn't have time to go anywhere else. He had warned her about being too obvious. Checking herself into a hospital in the area would have given everything away.

"Earth to Dr. Cameron!"

House's sarcastic tone pulled her back to the matter at hand. She shook her head, trying to clear her mind and ignore the pain in her ribs. She looked back at him, trying to look as if nothing were paining her.

"I said, what do we know about the patient's history?" House said impatiently. "You did the history, didn't you? Or were you too out of it for that too?"

Cameron noticed Chase's smirk. "There was nothing unusual in the patient's history," Cameron said slowly, trying to ignore the pain in her chest, but still winced all the same. "Her parents are both dead, and she has no brothers or sisters."

"Been out of the country recently?" House prompted.

Cameron shook her head. "No."

House frowned at her for a few moments longer. For a second, Cameron worried he could hear the scream of pain that had erupted in her mind, but she assured herself she hadn't actually screamed out loud. House blinked once, and then twice at her before looking away. "Okay," he began. "Chase, Foreman, draw blood and run all those test thingys we need to rule out some kind of infection. Cameron," he paused, looking straight at her again, "Cuddy said she was short-staffed in the clinic. I think Chase and Foreman can take this from here."

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"You idiot!" he snarled, pushing her up against the wall. "How obvious could you be?"

She gasped, struggling for air as he slapped her across the cheek. She could smell the alcohol on his breath. "It's not my fault my ribs are broken," she said defiantly.

He released her and she crumpled to the ground. "Your ribs aren't broken, Cameron. You'd be in more pain if they were," he said scornfully. She struggled to her feet, using the chair to regain her balance. Chase smirked at her.

"You're too weak, Allison," Chase said tauntingly. "You deserve everything you get from me. It'll teach you to be stronger."

She straightened up, brushing her tangled hair out of her face. She glared at Chase, too incensed to form a coherent sentence and too out of breath to make any sound. Instead, she didn't say anything at all. She slowly limped to the door and grabbed her coat and car keys.

"Where are you going?

"Home," she said firmly. "I'm leaving."

"LIAR!" he shouted. He lunged at her, knocking her to the ground. "YOU WERE GOING TO GO TO THE POLICE, WEREN'T YOU?"

"No – no!" gasped Cameron. She felt his fist make contact with her ribs and she cried out in pain. "No, Chase, please! I wasn't going to call them! I wasn't going to call them!"

He didn't say anything, but dragged her to her feet and threw her against the wall. Cameron saw stars and lights popped in front of her eyes. "Chase – no! You're going to leave a mark!"

Chase growled a response. He suddenly grabbed her around the waist and carried her to the bedroom. Cameron beat her fists uselessly against his strong back. "Let me go! Please let me go!"

Chase didn't respond, but instead threw her down onto the bed and straddled her. "You deserve this, Allison," he murmured. He slid his hand up her bruised chest and ripped off her blouse.

"NO!" Cameron shrieked. "NO, CHASE, NO!"

Her cries fell on deaf ears. She was paralyzed, unable to move, watching in horror as he removed the rest of her clothes and then removed his own. He violated her, ignoring her pleas, and then laughing when she began to cry. He was hurting her, bruising her aching wrists as he pushed them into the mattress to prevent her from escaping. He was on top of her, and she couldn't breathe. He was crushing her ribs. Her sobs were ragged, her breathing shallow. She would surely die from the agony.

After what felt like hours, he finished with her. She was silent then, her throat too dry to scream anymore, and she knew it was futile. Everything ached. She could barely breathe from the pain in her chest. He spat in her face, pulled himself off of her, and redressed himself. He walked slowly from the room and slammed the door shut, leaving her lying bruised and battered on his bed.


	2. Hide and Seek

**Disclaimer:** I forgot this in the first chapter, but I don't own anything related to House.

**A/T:** I was thrilled by the response for the first chapter! For all of you that reviewed, or added this story to your alerts, or your favorites, thank you so much! I love hearing feedback, so please don't hesitate to leave me a review, even if you hate it.

And bear with me, guys. I know that things might seem odd towards the end of this chapter, but abusive relationships are often psychological as well as physical. Just something to keep in mind as you read. 

She was numb. She had heard the door slam when Chase had left, but she still hadn't moved. She could barely even breathe. Every breath brought a searing pain to her chest and screwed up her face in pain. Her arms hung limp by her sides. She couldn't even move to grab her clothes and cover herself up.

She had never imagined it could have come to this. She knew he could hurt her; he had hit her so many times before. But she never thought he was possible of raping her. So many times she put up with his hitting, his punching, his shouting, his drunken rages, and she never thought that he could rape her. Maybe she was just naïve. Maybe she had just believed what she had wanted to believe.

And even now, she still couldn't believe it. She refused to believe it, that Chase was such a horrible person that he would do something so terrible to her on purpose. It couldn't have been on purpose. It had to have been the alcohol…it had impaired him…yes, that had to be it. No one could be that cruel. No one who told her they loved her could ever hurt her so badly.

But reality was unrelenting. He _had_ raped her. He had forced her to have sex with him. She had screamed her protests and he hadn't listened to her. He had crushed down on her chest and she had been unable to breathe. He had held her wrists over her head and she had never felt so exposed. He had violated her and she had not been able to stop him.

He had raped her.

She felt her lip tremble as the enormous weight of that statement crashed down on her. It was pure agony, to lie on her back too sore to move, with only her thoughts to occupy her. She couldn't stay here. Fear gripped her and her stomach clenched. What if Chase came back for more?

She cried out in pain when she tried to move, but forced herself to keep going anyway. She clenched her teeth to keep from screaming as she slowly rolled onto her side. Tears sprung to her eyes as she tried to make her useless arms support her body weight as she rolled off the bed.

The room was dark, but Cameron didn't want to turn on a light. She preferred the darkness; she could hide in the darkness. She groped around the floor for her clothes, but Chase had so many other clothes on the floor, the task was futile. She finally found her jeans and panties and she put those on, but she couldn't find her bra. Her shirt, her favorite lavender shirt, was ruined. Cameron found the shirt, but all the buttons had been ripped off when Chase had torn it from her body. It was all too much for her. She hugged the soft material close to her and began to cry.

He had destroyed her. He had taken something from her, and she was never going to get it back. He had ripped her clothes and shamed her. Maybe she should have fought harder. She hated him for doing this to her. And she hated herself for letting him do it.

She didn't know how long she sat there crying, but she soon realized that she couldn't stay there. She had already lingered long enough. She struggled to her feet and dragged herself to the door, grabbing her coat and keys along the way. She threw the coat around her naked upper half and ran to her car. She turned the key into the ignition and drove home as fast as she could.

She stumbled into her apartment twenty minutes later and ran for the bathroom. She heaved and vomited into the toilet, feeling a fresh wave of tears begin again as she realized this new weakness. She coughed violently, yelping in pain as her chest screamed for mercy. This only frustrated her more and she could only cry harder.

She felt dirty, unclean. She immediately turned the water on to start a shower, as hot as it would go. She stripped off her jeans and panties, carefully avoiding looking at herself in the mirror. She didn't think she could stand to see the bruises.

She was about to step inside when she felt herself pull back. She hadn't done a rape kit. There was no chance of collecting physical evidence if she stepped into the shower now. She would wash away everything. Part of her wanted to tell someone, to call someone, anyone, the police, or maybe even House and tell them everything that had happened, and the rape. Maybe she wouldn't even have to tell them it was Chase that raped her. She could say she didn't know.

But that wouldn't work. They would take his DNA from the semen and they would test her friends to rule them out. And then one of her friends would match and Chase would be in trouble. Or, worse yet, Chase would _find out_ she did a rape kit, and then _she _would be in trouble. She couldn't leave documentation; she couldn't leave a trail. It was too risky. People would ridicule her, and Chase would probably murder her.

She stepped into the shower, feeling the hot water mix with her tears as she scrubbed rigorously at her skin. She was hurting herself as she washed with such force over her bruises, and she screamed in agony several times, but she knew she couldn't stop. She had to keep going. She had to get everything off, wash away everything, every trace of evidence that Chase had ever touched her. She sobbed loudly, feeling her cries mix in with the steady pounding of the water on her back.

Slowly, the water began to soothe her and Cameron stopped scrubbing, allowing herself to calm down in the steam and heat of the shower. She turned the water off and just stood in the shower, dripping wet, but calmer than before. She was clean now, with nothing physical to suggest that anything traumatic had happened.

The bathroom was like a sauna from the hot water and Cameron hadn't bothered to turn on the fan, but the heat comforted her. She dried herself and her hair as best she could, but her arms and chest ached too much to raise them over her head. When she had done as much as she could stand, she stepped out of the bathroom to the bedroom.

It was nearing seven in the morning; she could tell by the pale light rising over her bed. For a moment, she felt exposed, as though the light over her were a spotlight and she was caught naked on stage. She moved quickly to find suitable clothes to cover herself up. She managed to locate a large gray sweater and sweatpants. They were both large and baggy enough to cover all of her bruises, including the ones on the wrists. Her hair was left loose and damp at shoulders; she ached too much to try to blow dry it.

Seven was the time she usually got up to go to work. The realization scared her: she was supposed to be at work in an hour. She couldn't go to work. Chase would be at work, and she didn't think she could ever see him again. House would be at work, and he might be able to guess what had happened to her if she started acting weird around Chase. And if House didn't notice, surely Wilson or Cuddy would, and then they would ask questions too. And maybe even Foreman would notice if she were reduced to silence all day, too afraid to make a sound because her voice might betray her inner fear.

No, going to work was not an option. She would have to call in sick. She knew she should probably call in now, because she wasn't sure how much longer she could stay awake. She reached for the phone and dialed House's office number.

There was no answer, not that Cameron was surprised. It was seven in the morning, after all. And House was almost rarely at work before ten. She didn't bother leaving a message; she felt that would be too impersonal. Instead she dialed the number for House's home phone. It rang four times before a grumpy voice mumbled, "It's too early for this."

Cameron was so surprised he picked up she almost forgot to respond. She drew a shaky breath and exhaled slowly. "House, it's Cameron. I'm calling in sick."

She could almost feel his interest on the other end of the line. "You're calling me at seven in the morning to tell me that you're sick. Do you realize I'm missing my beauty sleep for this?"

"I'm sorry to bother you," she said softly. "I just thought I'd-"

"Is it your stomach or your lungs?"

Cameron was taken aback. "What?"

House cleared his throat. "You grabbed your chest and winced yesterday every time you tried to draw a deep breath. I'm betting it's your lungs because otherwise you'd have been touching the wrong spot. I know you know your anatomy better than that. But you sound like you've got that bitter taste in your mouth after being sick. So which is it?"

Cameron was too shocked to say anything. _How could he have noticed that?_ She felt tears in her eyes again and she blinked to keep from crying. She couldn't speak; her voice would betray her. She couldn't believe that House had noticed that; no wonder Chase had been so angry with her. He must have seen House staring at her earlier. She hated herself for being so obvious. She hadn't been smart enough to keep it hidden.

"Neither," she whispered, and with the _click_, the line went dead.

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House stared at the receiver after he heard Cameron hang up on him. His brow furrowed in thought; something didn't seem right. Cameron was never sick. He could only recall one other time she had called in sick, and she had been lying then too. Something wasn't right about her.

Something hadn't been right about her for a few months now. She looked constantly tired, and she hardly ever smiled. And she also never removed her lab coat. Not even when the air conditioner was broken and the hospital was a sweltering ninety degrees. House remembered asking her about it, but she just shrugged it off saying she thought it would be "unprofessional". He had believed her then.

But now she was lying to him again, and he didn't know why. He had his suspicions, but he wasn't about to parade those around. Something was wrong with her chest; if not her lungs, maybe her ribs? Her wince of pain flashed in his mind's eye; she certainly looked pained enough to have broken ribs. He didn't even want to think about why her ribs would be broken, or why she hadn't seen anyone about them.

The receiver was still in his hand. House punched in a number, hoping the other person would pick up the line.

On the second ring, he did. "James Wilson."

"How long has Cameron been dating Chase?"

House heard Wilson sigh on the other end of the line. "Please don't tell me you just figured this out."

"No, no," House said impatiently. "I just…wondered." He broke off awkwardly.

Wilson cleared his throat. "Four months, isn't it? I'm not quite sure, House. This is your department, after all."

House nodded, unaware that Wilson couldn't see him. "Have you noticed anything off about Cameron recently?"

"Off how?"

House growled. "I don't know. She seems…withdrawn…She's lying to me…"

"Everybody lies," Wilson said simply. "You say so yourself practically twice a day."

House wasn't really listening anymore. He slowly replaced the receiver and rubbed his eyes. It was too early to get out of bed and go to work, but he didn't have any choice. Cameron would now occupy his mind until he could confront her about whatever it was.

Everybody lied, but whatever Cameron was lying about was so much more important than any trivial detail about a patient. She was hiding something, and House was going to do everything he could to figure out what.

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She didn't remember falling asleep after hanging up the phone with House. The first thing she became aware of when she came to was someone's arms around her. Someone was hugging her, holding her, and it felt comforting. She shifted slowly, rolling onto her side, groaning inwardly as she moved her sore body.

"Chase?" His name caught in her throat and she felt her heartbeat quicken. "What…What are you doing here?"

"Shh, Al," he murmured. She was suddenly shocked to see the tears swimming in his blue eyes. "I'm so sorry I hurt you."

She didn't say anything; she didn't know what to say. She wanted to believe him, she really did. She wanted to hug him and say that she understood and that it was all right, but only half of that would be true. She did understand but she knew that it wasn't right.

"I don't know if I can forgive you," she said slowly, deliberately, not wanting to set him off. She could tell that he was sober, but she wasn't about to let her guard down again.

"Allison…I don't know if you can forgive me, but I've got to try for your forgiveness anyway. I was so out of it last night; I had been drinking. I know that's not an excuse and that you've probably heard it so many times before, but it's the only thing I can say. I would never hurt you like that on purpose, never! I love you, Al. I hope you know that." She saw the tears begin to run down his cheek.

"You tell me that you love me, Robbie, but I don't know if I can believe you," she whispered. "You don't know how much you hurt me…" She began to sob in his arms. "You hurt me so much…"

He pulled her closer and she buried her face in his neck. He cried softly too, mixing in his tears with hers. "Al, I would never, ever hurt you so terribly on purpose. I hate myself for what I did to you. You are the smartest, kindest, most beautiful person I've ever met. I love you so much that it hurts to hear you cry. Whenever we're apart, I'm so lonely, and every time I see you, I smile instantly. You are so special, Allison. You're an amazing person, and I don't want you to ever doubt yourself…or how much I love you. And if there's anything I can do to make it up to you…anything at all…"

Cameron cried harder. It hurt so much to hear him say this, knowing what else he was capable of doing. She wanted to forgive him so badly; he was apologizing to her and he was crying. His apology was sincere and his tears were genuine. She would be heartless to ignore him. He seemed truly sorry.

"I don't know what to do," she cried into his shoulder. "I want to believe you so badly…"

Gently, Chase cupped her chin and caressed her cheek with his thumb. When she didn't object, he leaned over and kissed her tenderly. His kiss was soft, cautious, awaiting her approval or disapproval. He wasn't hurting her; he was being so sweet. _He really does care_, she thought, sighing against his lips.

She broke away lightly and wiped her eyes. "Do you promise not to hurt me?"

Chase looked at her straight in the eye. "I will never hurt you again, Allison. I promise."

She drew a shaky breath and exhaled slowly. "Then…I forgive you, Robbie."

Chase smiled at her, and Cameron felt her heart melt. He hugged her closer to him and she relaxed against his arms. Maybe this would be the beginning to a whole new ending.


	3. Ask Me No Questions

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything.

**A/N:** Thanks again for the great response to the last chapter! I can't thank you all enough for adding me to your favorites, your alerts, and leaving reviews. They really make my day. I'd love to have some more! Feedback on this story is important to me. If there's anything you'd like to see different or think I should incorporate, please feel free to share your ideas.

* * *

Cameron awoke the next morning feeling so warm and comfortable that she didn't want to get up at all. Chase's arms were still wrapped around her and she watched his chest slowly rise and fall. She played carelessly with the locks of hair falling in front of his eyes, brushing them back from his face. She felt comforted by his apology the night before, ready to give him another chance. He did deserve one; after all, Cameron believed that everyone deserved a second chance.

She suddenly found him staring back at her. She smiled slightly at him, and he returned the gesture. He extended his hand to gently brush against her cheek.

"What time is it?" he whispered.

Cameron pointed to the clock behind her and Chase pushed himself up to look at it. "Six fifteen," he said, promptly plopping himself back down into the bed next to her and began stroking her hair. She suddenly hissed in pain. He drew his hand back immediately.

"What's wrong, Al?" he asked, his tone concerned.

"It's…nothing," she said, trying to ignore the pain in her chest. "It's just…my chest, that's all."

"Let me see?" Chase offered.

In a flash, she remembered the last time he had seen her bare chest and what he had done to her. She felt her pulse quicken as she looked up at him, not sure how to respond. She had forgiven him, but she wasn't sure she could trust him; she wasn't sure she could trust him so close to her injuries when the wounds were still fresh. Her hesitation must have shown in her eyes, because Chase began stroking her cheek again.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Allison," he whispered.

"I – I know," she said softly, trying to reassure herself more than him. "I…okay."

She hated this uncertainty, this feeling of trepidation every time he came close to her. She couldn't have a relationship with someone that she couldn't trust; they both knew that. He was trying to win her trust back, and she had to let him in. She couldn't shut herself off from him forever; that wouldn't do anything to solve the problem. If she wanted this to work, she would have to trust him.

Chase smiled reassuringly at her as he lifted her sweatshirt over her head and helped her remove it completely from her body. He lowered her back against the pillows and touched her cheek soothingly.

She hadn't seen her chest in nearly two days and she was immediately shocked by how awful it looked. Her skin by her ribs was black and blue and her wrists were swollen and colored the same. She felt tears spring to her eyes at the sight of her hideous form and she blinked quickly to avoid letting them fall. She didn't want him to see her cry.

"I'm so sorry," he murmured. He looked back at her and Cameron could see the remorse reflecting in his eyes. He slowly brought his hand from her cheek to her chest and began feeling her rib cage. She yelped in pain and arched her head back against the searing pain that had erupted in her chest.

"I know it hurts, Al, I know," he said soothingly. She closed her eyes to keep her tears of pain from falling and tried to focus on something else as he continued to examine her.

"How are we going to cover this up?" she whispered, fear biting at her voice.

Chase ran his thumb over her hand reassuringly. "Your ribs are just bruised, Allison. We can put ice on them to reduce the swelling and you'll just have to try not to move around too much today. Your wrists…" Chase eyed them warily. "We'll put ice on them too for now, and I think that if you wear a turtleneck today, you'll be able to hide them well enough. You can move your wrists, can't you?"

She nodded, moving them in slow circles. She winced in pain, but she was able to do it. He smiled encouragingly at her. "Good girl," he told her. "I'm going to get you some ice. I'll be right back."

He planted a kiss on her forehead and padded out of the bedroom. Cameron closed her eyes when he left, fighting back the tears that desperately wanted to fall.

She would never be able to pull this off. She felt sore and stiff and broken. Moving was pure agony. What if her pager went off and she had to run to save a patient? She was barely able to walk without wincing; running would be living hell. Or what if she had to carry anything heavy? She wouldn't be able to lift it. Or what if someone accidentally brushed into her, and hit either her chest or her wrist? What if, worse yet, she raised her arm and her sleeve fell back to reveal the bruises covering her wrists? What if someone noticed something? What would she say? What would Chase say?

How was she going to live this lie when the evidence was right beneath everyone's nose?

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She was walking down the hallway towards him, her head down in a file, reading it intently. He knew he should call out to her, ask her how she was feeling, seeing as she had been out sick the day before…or so she said. But he knew better than to believe House's crazy theories. Wilson shook his head. His best friend was starting to rub off on him. Of course Cameron had been sick; why would she lie? House was just being House, always trying to make something out of nothing. It would be a lot more interesting to him if she were lying about her whereabouts the day before.

"Cameron – hey!" he called out to her as she approached him. She immediately jerked her head up and stumbled backward. "Ah, sorry," said Wilson, noticing her startled response. "I didn't mean to scare you…I was just wondering how you were feeling. House told me you called in sick yesterday."

"Yes-" she replied, somewhat breathlessly. "Yes, I'm feeling better, much better." She smiled reassuringly at him, but Wilson thought her smile looked more like a grimace.

In truth, he didn't think she looked well at all. Her eyes seemed dimmer than usual, and there was something odd about her breathlessness. He could understand startling her, but she looked almost as if she were in pain. She looked scared, frightened, like a deer caught in headlights. He frowned at her, trying to figure out what was wrong. She seemed unnaturally uncomfortable around him, as if she were trying to hide something.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asked her. "You look a bit…pale."

"Yes, yes I'm fine," she insisted. "I'm – I'm sorry, I just really need to get these files to House, that's all…"

"Right, of course," Wilson said slowly. "Um…Okay, well I'll talk to you later then."

"Yeah," she said, nodding at him.

Wilson looked at her cautiously. Was there something that she wasn't telling him? Her eyes had always been so descriptive of her inner feelings, and now they looked scared. His gut was telling him that something was wrong, but he wasn't sure he would be able to get anything out of her. She seemed really anxious, waiting for him to let her leave. Something inside of him nagged at him to lead her into his office and ask her what she was hiding beside the mask.

But he couldn't do that. She probably wouldn't open up to him, and at any rate, it probably wasn't his place to do it. It was House's suspicion, not his. Cameron probably didn't want to be badgered about whatever it was; she was clearly uneasy by his presence. He probably had kept her too long as it was.

"Cameron, you know that if you ever needed someone to talk to about…well, anything really…You know you can talk to me, right?" He reached out his hand to try and touch her reassuringly, let her know that he wasn't going to hurt her, but she drew back quickly, drawing a sudden breath. She gasped suddenly and Wilson saw her wince.

"Cameron?" he asked her uncertainly. "Are you okay?"

She swallowed hard and nodded at him. "Yes…I'm fine. And, um, thanks for the offer, but I think I'll be okay."

"Okay," he said gently, not wanting to make her any more nervous than she already was. He couldn't understand why, but she clearly didn't want to talk to him and he didn't want to make the situation worse. He smiled slightly at her and moved aside to let her pass.

As he watched her walk away quickly, he couldn't help but wonder what was wrong. House was right; something wasn't right with her. Maybe he could ask Cuddy to help him get her to open up. She wasn't going to talk to him, but that didn't mean she had nothing to say. If he knew Cameron, she was waiting to tell the right person. Wilson could only hope that she told someone whatever it was.

"Morning, Chase," Wilson said absently as he saw Chase pass him briskly. Chase didn't respond, but instead kept walking quickly in the direction he had just seen Cameron go. Wilson paused for a moment uncertainly. _Could it be…?_

No, absolutely not. There was no way. Wilson shook his head, trying to clear his mind. It seemed he was turning into House much faster than he had thought.

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She could hear him coming down the hallway after her, and for a moment, she considered quickening her pace so she could avoid talking to him. She was too unnerved by Wilson's questions to talk to anyone right now; she needed to collect herself, reassure herself that she hadn't given anything away. She hadn't said anything that would incriminate him. She had basically kept her mouth shut.

But had that been for the best? Wilson seemed to have noticed that something was wrong, and he even offered to help her. He had tried to touch her, and she had drawn back; that had probably given away more than anything else. He had been aiming for her shoulder and her shoulder was too sore. She didn't want to cry out; that would have given even more away.

She hated this. She hated lying to the people around her. She hated that she couldn't tell someone what was wrong, but it wasn't even a possibility anymore. She hated that every time someone came close to her, she wondered if they would be the one to bump into her, or if they would suddenly grab her wrist and draw back her sleeve, as though they could see right through her clothing and see the bruises inside. They would draw it back, and then they'd have their proof. And she would be subject to their questions, and obligated to answer.

Chase wouldn't like that at all.

"Hey!"

She turned around, trying to remain calm. She didn't want him to think that she had said anything she shouldn't have. "Hey," she said slowly. "What's up?"

"Were you just talking to Wilson?" he asked sharply. His tone scared her. It was menacing, challenging her, daring her to lie to him. He learned against the wall, waiting for her to answer, his eyes searching her.

"Yes," she answered, knowing she couldn't lie. He had probably seen her talking to him, or maybe he had just seen Wilson walking past. It would be better to tell the truth; there was no reason for Chase to get angry with her because she had talked to someone she talked to every day.

"What did he want?"

For a split second, she considered lying, but she knew that she shouldn't do that. Things would only be worse if she lied to him. She was a horrible liar; she could barely lie to patients or their families, let alone her coworkers. She would have to tell him the truth; if she lied, he's catch her for sure, and then he'd make even a bigger deal out of it.

"Oh, um," she mumbled. "He just wanted to see if I was okay…"

"Okay?" Chase repeated angrily. "Why would you not be okay?" he growled. "What did you tell him?"

"Nothing, Chase, nothing!" she insisted, unnerved by his overreaction. Her eyes widened in shock as he shoved her up against the wall. She gasped in pain as he touched her sore chest.

"Chase, please…" she begged. "Chase, we're in the hospital; there are people, other people here..."

His face was inhuman. It was only hatred; she couldn't see anything else. She couldn't find the traces of the tenderness he had used that morning when he had stroked her cheek, or any of the genuine remorse she had seen last night when he had apologized to her. He was only hurting her, only causing her pain. Tears filled her eyes and she couldn't tell if they were from the physical pain, or from her disappointment at his betrayal.

"You have got to start being more careful, Cameron!" he whispered furiously, shaking her. She cried out as the back of her head hit the wall. "If anyone finds out about this, we're going to be in so much trouble!" He seized her hair and pulled her closer to him. "You can't say anything, Allison! You know you can't say anything!"

"Chase, please…no!" she cried. "You promised me, you promised!"

He grunted and released her hard, causing her to slam her head into the wall again. He caused her one look of disdain before looking around the hallway. There was no one there. She sunk to the floor, her head in her hands. She didn't hear him leave, but when she looked up again, he was gone.

He had hurt her again, and this time, it had been her fault. She couldn't blame him for being scared or being angry with her. She should have tried harder to avoid talking to Wilson. She should have moved away from him sooner, she couldn't have allowed herself to get caught talking to him. She should have ignored him. She should have realized what Chase would have done if he found out. She was lucky that she had escaped with so little.

But he had still hurt her. Her scalp was aching from where he had grabbed her hair, and her head pounded from when he had thrown her against the wall. Her world began spinning and she closed her eyes, trying to block it all out. It did no good. Suddenly, she felt nauseous and she quickly pulled herself to her feet and dashed to the nearest bathroom. Luckily, there was one just down the next hall. She turned the corner and pushed open the door, racing to the nearest toiler. She wretched violently and heaved up everything she had eaten that day. She fell back against the bathroom stall, crying and coughing, her eyes screwed shut. She felt her heart skip a beat when she heard someone open the door.

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"Cameron?"

She entered the bathroom slowly, not wanting to startle her. She heard sobbing and knew that she had come to the right place. Chase had told her to go to this bathroom; he said he had seen her dash into it looking sick. Cuddy was glad that she had come.

She approached the bathroom stall from which the noise was coming cautiously, aware of how loudly her heels clicked on the tiled floor, which probably wasn't the most comforting of sounds. She gently pushed open the unlocked door and stepped inside, kneeling in front of the younger woman.

"Cameron?"

She looked awful. She was leaning back against the stall and it looked as though all the fight had been taken out of her. She looked exhausted and very weak. Her eyes were closed and her breathing was shallow. Cuddy knew she had just been sick. She wasn't sure if Cameron was even aware of her presence. She slowly extended her hand and brushed it against Cameron's forehead. The younger woman felt quite warm.

"Allison?" Cuddy said, louder this time, hoping to catch her attention, "can you hear me?"

Cameron's eyes slowly fluttered open and Cuddy was shocked, yet again, but how awful she looked. Her eyes were empty, as though sapphire could lose its shine and spirit. They were red and puffy from crying, and they stared back at Cuddy dully. She slowly nodded her head in response to the question, hiccupping slightly.

"You feel warm to me," Cuddy murmured softly. "Are you sick? Do you need the day off?"

She didn't know what else to say. She wasn't sure if being ill was the only thing bothering Cameron, but she wasn't sure now was the time for her to be asking questions. Cameron looked worn out already, but she, Cuddy, didn't want to make it worse by pestering her. But there might be something there, something that the younger woman was not telling her. She shrugged it off. House was beginning to rub off too much on her.

Cameron still hadn't responded, but that was answer enough for Cuddy. It was clear that she was too sick to work, and even if she hadn't said it aloud, Cuddy would vouch for her, and that would be sufficient for just about everyone. House might not like it, because sending Cameron home would prove she actually had been sick the day before, and House at the moment was doing everything he could to prove his employee had lied to him. But House would be House no matter what, and his ability to make a puzzle out of this poor woman's life was of complete irrelevance when deciding whether or not she was fit to work at the hospital for the rest of the day.

"Okay, Cameron," Cuddy said gently. "I'm – um – going to get Chase to drive you home, okay? You can take the rest of the day off."

She felt Cameron stiffen and she drew back slightly. Cuddy frowned. Had she said something wrong?

Cameron was shaking her head. "No – no! I don't want Chase to take me home!"

She rubbed Cameron's back soothingly. "It's okay, Allison. You've got a fever; you should go home and rest. I'm sure that House will understand." In truth, she didn't believe that at all, but honesty wasn't always the best policy. House would probably be furious, but she could deal with House.

Cameron continued to shake her head furiously at Cuddy. She frowned down at her, unsure of what to say, or what was making the younger woman so upset. Cameron looked downright petrified at the thought of Chase taking her home.

"Can you…please?" she whispered. She was beginning to shake slightly in Cuddy's arms. Maybe Cameron was sicker than she had thought. "I – I don't want House to – to get upset if Chase and I both leave – He would be so – so angry-"

Cameron was getting so upset, she was beginning to hyperventilate. _Calm her down, calm her down! _Cuddy continued tracing circles on Cameron's back, trying to soothe her; she hadn't meant to upset her. Now wasn't the time to understand why Cameron was so bothered by Chase taking her home; questions like that would do nothing to solve the problem. Cuddy nodded. "Okay, okay, Allison," she said soothingly, trying to get the other doctor to take a breath. "Just take a deep breath, you're okay. I'm sorry; I didn't mean to upset you," she said quietly. "I can take you home now, it's no problem," she reassured her.

Slowly, Cameron's breathing began to return to normal. Cuddy exhaled slowly, relieved that nothing worse had happened. She stood up carefully and helped the younger woman to her feet. She led her out of the bathroom to her waiting car outside and drove her home in silence to her apartment. Cuddy hadn't meant for the ride to be so silent, but it seemed that the exhausted Cameron had finally fallen asleep.


	4. I Only Tell Lies

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything related to House.

**A/N:** Thanks again for the awesome response for the last chapter. I am absolutely thrilled and so grateful for all the reviews you readers have left me. They really make my day. I really appreciate all of you telling me what you think about this story. As always, feedback is much appreciated. I'd love to know if there's anything you think I should do differently or anything you'd like to see.

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He limped down the hall, his step uneven with his cane. He avoided making eye contact with the people passing him by, focusing only on his destination. It was a place he usually ended up at least once a day, once every other day if he could help it. He pushed open her door without knocking and invited himself in. He was on a mission, as he so often was, and niceties were irrelevant.

"Where's Cameron?" he demanded.

Cuddy looked up at him from her paperwork. He stared back and raised an eyebrow at her, waiting not so patiently for her response. "Come on, come on!" he insisted, drumming the top of his cane impatiently.

Cuddy sighed and closed the file she had been reading. "I sent her home," she said simply. She rose up from her desk and walked around to the front of it. He always appreciated when she did that; it gave her the illusion of being more authoritative, which made him snigger a bit in the back of his mind.

"You sent her home?" he repeated. "Did she play badly in school, Mommy?"

She rolled her eyes and shook her head. "No. She was burning up."

House frowned and tapped his cane thoughtfully. "She was sick?" he said slowly.

"That's what I said, isn't it?" Cuddy shot back at him. "You can't be right all the time, House. She wasn't lying about being sick yesterday. She looked absolutely awful today."

His frown deepened. In truth, he hadn't seen Cameron since that morning, but she had looked fine to him then. She didn't look any better or worse than she normally did, and it certainly didn't look to him like she had spent the previous day on the bathroom floor with a bug. No, that couldn't be right; Cameron wasn't sick. She had lied to him yesterday, and somehow she had fooled Cuddy into thinking she was sick enough to go home today. What did she want to avoid so badly?

"How do you know?" he asked gruffly.

"How do I know what, House?"

"That she was sick yesterday!"

Cuddy let out a sigh of frustration. "For crying out loud, House! Would you give it up already? I know she was sick yesterday because I found her crying on the floor of the bathroom today throwing up. She has a fever; she obviously isn't feeling well."

"You just found her crying in the bathroom?" he asked slowly.

"No," Cuddy corrected him, "Chase told me he saw her run in there and asked me to go see if she was okay. I went in and looked, and she was sick so I drove her home."

"You drove her home?" House repeated incredulously. "What was wrong with having Chase drive her home? Didn't you have work to do?"

"Yes, House, I did!" Cuddy said exasperatedly. "And I did tell her I would get Chase to drive her home. You know what she did? She started hyperventilating and she almost made herself pass out. You know why? Because she was too damn worried about what _you_ would think and how angry _you_ would be if she and Chase both left!"

House only stared at her. Why did everything seem to involve Chase? _Chase_ had told Cuddy where to look for Cameron. Cuddy suggested _Chase_ should drive Cameron home, and had practically sent the younger doctor into shock. Something wasn't adding up here.

Or maybe it added up too perfectly. Maybe the reason Chase seemed to come up every time something was wrong with Cameron was because there was something wrong with them. Something wasn't right and no matter who Cameron could convince about how she was feeling, House wasn't going to believe there was nothing there until he could confront her about it himself. If she wasn't going to work at the hospital, then he would have to take more direct action. He was going to have to talk to her himself. And by the looks of things, he was going to have to talk to her as soon as he possibly could.

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She drifted slowly in and out of hazy consciousness, feeling as though she couldn't move at all. She knew she was lying down, but she couldn't remember how she had gotten that way. The last thing she remembered was being in the bathroom, and Cuddy, Cuddy feeling her forehead, Cuddy telling her she would drive her home. Cuddy changing her plan, Cuddy wanting to have Chase drive her home instead…

Cameron jerked her eyes open, fully awake now. _Chase!_ Had he been to her apartment? How had she gotten inside? Had he had anything to do with this? Her mind was reeling and she began to panic as her mind struggled to catch up and fill her in on what had happened the last few hours. What had happened? Had he…had he…?

_No,_ she answered herself, trying to calm herself down. _No, he wouldn't touch you._ She couldn't feel any pain, like she had the last time he had touched her. He was probably still at work. He was probably making up excuses for her, and why she had left, unless he had left that for Cuddy to do. She was alone, she assured herself. Nothing had happened.

But no, he couldn't be at work. From the darkness falling over the couch, he must have returned from work a long time ago. It was dark; it was late. She bolted upright; where was he?

She reached behind her slowly and turned on the light. Brightness illuminated the room, casting shadows onto the floor and shining light on the coffee table beside the couch. Cameron frowned and picked up the piece of paper. She exhaled slowly as she read it.

_Hey sweetie,_

_I came home and you were asleep. I didn't have the heart to wake you. I'm going to crash in your bedroom, okay? Come wake me up when you're feeling better._

_Love,_

_Robbie_

A hard pounding on the door resounded, shattering the silence. She turned around quickly; who was at the door? Chase, according to the note, was asleep in her bedroom. Who else would come to her apartment this late? The pounding increased, in volume and speed. Worried whoever it was would wake up Chase, Cameron moved quickly to the door and unlocked it.

"House?"

He was standing in the doorway leaning causally against his cane. He had looked up when she said his name, but otherwise didn't speak at all. She watched his eyes survey her form and she realized that she must have looked a mess. She looked back at him with slight trepidation. Why had he come here? It had to be late at night; whatever it was, it couldn't be about a patient. Had he come to yell at her for leaving work early?

"I'm going to assume," he said slowly, "that the reason it took you so long to come to the door was because I just woke you up from what I'm sure was a very pleasant dream."

She didn't know what to say. His statement, while it retained his true character and wit for sarcasm, didn't betray any of his purpose for coming here. She cast an anxious glance behind her, hoping that Chase hadn't woken up. He probably wouldn't like that she was talking to House right now. She quietly shut the door behind her and stepped out into the hallway.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything," House commented lightly. "Chase in there with you?" he called.

"Be quiet!" she hissed at him. She crossed her arms, hugging herself tightly, as though she could protect herself from whatever he was going to throw at her next. She looked hard him, staring him down, daring him to say something mean to her while she could look so pitiful. "What do you want?"

She waited for him to say something sarcastic, something to the effect of him commenting snidely on where she had been, while still implying several sexual references along the way. She braced herself for what was coming, refusing to look anywhere else but at him, and especially not at the ground which might have suggested she was ashamed of something.

In truth, she wanted nothing more than to hang her head. She didn't want him to see her like this. She was a mess, and they both knew it, though why he wasn't commenting was beyond her. She was still wearing her turtleneck, wrinkled from having slept in it for so many hours. Her hair was tangled and thrown loosely over her shoulders. He was pretty justified in thinking Chase was inside, she reflected, seeing as she looked messy enough to have just had sex with him.

What he did next surprised her more than anything. He didn't speak, but instead walked closer to her and pressed his lips softly against her forehead. Cameron was too shocked to say anything, caught off guard by his blatant physical contact. She felt her heart beat quicken and she tried to take a breath to calm herself down. Her chest still sore, she emitted a small gasp of pain when she tried to take a breath and stumbled back against the wall, breaking House's contact with her.

"You don't feel warm to me."

"What?" she said absently, massaging her chest, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible about the pain.

"I said," he repeated, "you don't feel warm to me." It still didn't make any sense to her. She tilted her head and frowned at him. "Your forehead," he said slowly, trying to make her comprehend. "It's not warm. You don't have a fever. You _lied_."

"No – no," she stuttered. "No, I did have a fever earlier. You can ask Cuddy; she was the one that drove me home-"

Why was he looking at her like that; why didn't he believe her? His piercing stare was enough to make her wither beneath it. His eyes were not warm, but only held questions, questions that she knew she would soon have to answer. She glanced nervously at the door; what if Chase woke up and saw her talking to House?

"What are you so afraid of?"

She looked back at him curiously, anxiously. He could read every emotion on her face. She had one flash of fear and he could see it instantly. He was House, that was it. His uncanny knack for reading people was proving itself yet again; he could read her like a book. "Nothing," she replied. But she knew she had replied too late and that her voice had already betrayed her inner fear.

She didn't want to be read; she didn't want him to know. Unlike Wilson, who recognized how uncomfortable she had been around him, House recognized it, but didn't care. In fact, he was feeding on it. He was playing a game with her that she was never going to win. She averted her eyes, unable to sustain his burning stare any longer.

"Cameron," he said gently. She was stunned by his softer, less gruff tone. It was almost soothing to hear him speak to her this way, not yelling triumphantly, with no trace of sarcasm. It was humanizing. "Cameron, look at me."

She did so, but reluctantly. He was staring back at her, with deep intensity filling his blue eyes. For the first time in a long time, she saw the emotion behind his eyes, the real person behind his gruff and demeaning shell that he kept on the outside. He met her gaze and she stared back at him, wondering what he was going to say next, or really, if anything even needed to be said at all. If he had meant to calm her, he already had.

"Cameron," he began softly, "you might not tell me what the problem is, but I've got a pretty good idea already." He eyed her sternly, searching her face for traces of emotion. She tried to keep it as straight as possible. He paused, and then said clearly, "How long has it been going on?"

Her breath caught in her throat, and for a moment she couldn't breathe. Her head began to spin. She couldn't believe that he had guessed, that he had just asked her that. She should have known better than to think it would go unnoticed by him; he was House, after all. But nothing could have prepared her for this. She didn't know what to feel. At first she felt relief, that someone had finally noticed, that maybe she wasn't as invisible as she had thought, but relief was a passing feeling and it was now replaced by fear. Fear coursed through her veins and made her heart pound so loudly, she swore he could hear it to. Fear dilated her pupils and sent her falling back against the wall in shock. Fear caused her to look anxiously at her apartment door, terrified that any moment, he would come out and attack her. She shouldn't be talking to House at all. Chase wouldn't like that. She had to get back inside; she had spent too much time with House already.

"I – I don't know what you're talking about," she lied.

He looked at her, and his gaze was almost sympathetic. This scared her more than anything. She could hide her reality from everyone else, but he would always see right through her façade. He knew too much already, to bring this question upon her. Her silence answered his question, but she knew it would only answer it in his mind. It would only confirm his suspicions.

"Yes, you do," he growled quietly. "Come on, Cameron! Everyone can see it!"

She continued to shake her head. The only thing she could do was keep denying him. She couldn't get Chase in trouble if she never said anything; House's suspicions might be enough to bring her in for questioning, but she could continue to deny the accusations, and Chase would always be safe. She couldn't betray him now; she was trapped. Chase would hurt her; he would probably kill her if he found out she had turned him in. She shuddered involuntarily at the thought. She couldn't turn Chase in; she couldn't get him in trouble. It wasn't right for him to go to jail for the rest of his life because he had made some mistakes. He had made mistakes, but he was learning. She could help him; she could teach him, change him, and he would learn. He could learn how to treat her better; she knew he could do it, but it could only be done if she never gave up on him. She couldn't turn him in now.

"No," she said in a voice she barely recognized as her own. It was harsher than she intended, but she couldn't back down. "No, you're wrong. He's never touched me. Chase loves me."

"He's brainwashed you!"

"You're brainwashing everyone else!" she shouted back at him. "You're making something of nothing, House!"

He ignored her. "How long has it been going on?" he insisted loudly.

"He's never touched me!"

"How long?" he shouted at her.

She didn't answer; she couldn't scream at him anymore. Chase might have woken up; she had to get back into her apartment quickly before he realized anything was wrong. She couldn't lie anymore. She couldn't lie to House and speaking any more to him would only make the situation worse. She turned around and pulled her door open. She didn't look back at him, not wanting to encourage him to respond, not wanting to continue this shouting match.

She wasn't entirely sure why she was lying to him, or maybe she was, but she didn't want to admit it. She hated herself for lying to him, for shouting so harshly at him, when he hadn't done anything but just ask her some questions. The questions were uncomfortable, but he couldn't help that. It was wrong of her to yell at him. She felt tears fill her eyes and she turned back to him.

"Just go, House," she whispered. "Things will be much worse if you stay." She allowed the door to close slowly behind her, and she couldn't help but feel that she had just shut out the last person in her life.

"Where have you been?"

Each word was said slowly, deliberately, spat out of his mouth with so much anger and hatred that she could scarcely believe the voice was human. She looked up at him with her wet eyes and felt her pulse quicken, seeing the blazing fire in his blue eyes.

"No – nowhere, Chase," she stuttered. She reached out to touch his arm, wanting to calm him down before he did anything both of them would regret.

He drew back from her and she was scared by the look of pure hatred in his face. "Don't lie to me," he said through clenched teeth. He advanced on her, forcing her to back herself up against the door.

"Robbie," she said softly, trying to calm him down. She tried stroking his face, brushing her fingers delicately against his cheek. "Robbie, please listen to me. I'm not lying, baby. I was just outside the door. House came here looking for me; I talked to him outside because I didn't want to wake you-"

Chase roared and slammed her into the door. "WHAT DID YOU TELL HIM?" he bellowed.

"Nothing – nothing, Robbie!" Cameron gasped, the wind knocked out of her with the force with which she had hit the door. "I promise, I promise! House came here and accused me of lying about being sick. I told him he was wrong. I told him I was sick – and Cuddy believes me, Robbie! It's okay, no one can prove anything!"

"They can't _prove_ anything?" Chase spat at her. "What's that supposed to mean? WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN TELLING PEOPLE?"

"Nothing!" she insisted. "Please, believe me! Please – don't hurt me! DON'T HURT ME!"

She was sobbing now; he didn't believe her. The cruelest irony had fallen upon her. She felt as though she had been betrayed by fate itself. She had protected him, lied about him, lied to everyone that asked her about him. She had never said anything that would accuse him – the only thing she had ever done was be in pain. And she couldn't help that either. She didn't deserve any of this. She had kept him safe.

He roared and slapped her across the face. "Stop crying!" he ordered her. "Stop it, Cameron! Stop it now!"

But she couldn't stop. She was too scared to stop crying. She couldn't calm him down; she wasn't going to be able to stop him. He could do whatever he wanted to her. She knew it, and even if he didn't know it, he'd do whatever he wanted to her without her consent. He was going to hurt her again. He was going to rape her again. She had tried her hardest to fix him. She deserved this. She hadn't done her part. She had been too obvious; she had caught too much attention. He was taking out his anger on her, and she could understand why he was angry.

"SHUT UP! SHUT UP!" he screamed at her, slamming her into the door again and again. She couldn't stop; she wasn't yelling for help, but only crying, crying so loudly. She couldn't make herself stop. She just wanted to die. She couldn't stop him from hurting her. She just wanted it to end. She thought she heard a vague pounding on the door, but that was probably just her imagination. Yelling for help, begging for her life would do nothing to help her now. She could only wait for it to be over.

He slammed her into the door, and this time, she saw her world flicker. She closed her eyes, hearing nothing but his screaming above her tears. She felt him lift her and slam her into the door again and her world went black. He felt her go limp and he threw her body to the ground. He continued to beat her until he had nothing left, nothing more he could do to her. She had been unconscious for several minutes, and he had heard nothing except for his own grunts and angry yells as he assaulted her. Satisfied with his work, he smirked at her still form and straightened his shirt. He closed the door with a content slam, leaving her lying lifeless on her apartment floor.


	5. Consequences of Reality

**Disclaimer:** I don't own House, M.D.

**A/N: **Thanks to all my lovely readers and reviewers. It's great to see so many of you enjoying this story. I accept all reviews - critical or not - because I like hearing what everyone has to say. Feel free to share your opinions!

**Special Note:** This story doesn't really follow any coherent time frame in relation to the show. The Cameron and Chase in my head for this story more closely resemble the characters from the first season, and are definitely not alike their third or fourth season counterparts. However, this story is set in the second season, after the episode Hunting (2x07). Just thought that ought to be cleared up.

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Silence. He knocked again. Still silence. He tried once more, rapping his knuckles against the heavy wood of the door. It had been a 911 call. Silence was an ominous sign. He slid his hand down the smooth wood to the handle of the door. It was unlocked. He reached to his holster and drew his weapon slowly. With the gun in his right hand, he turned the handle with his left.

He entered gun first, and he was so focused on anyone inside with a potential weapon that he almost tripped over her body. He stumbled, staggering slightly to the right and felt his heart rate increase when he saw her. There was blood on the ground, forming a sticky pool near her head. She was lying facedown, her arms folded underneath her. He looked back at her for a moment, and then radioed for an ambulance. He continued to walk through the apartment, weapon drawn, checking all the rooms. They were clear.

This task done, he turned back to the woman. He holstered his weapon and knelt beside her, feeling for a pulse. Weak, but there. He gently rolled her over onto her back and was held his ear to her mouth. Her breath was barely a flutter against his cheek. She needed oxygen, fast, but she could hold on for now. There wasn't anything he could do about the blood now drying into her hair; she wasn't bleeding out from it. He inspected the rest of her body, wondering vaguely what had happened. The 911 call hadn't exactly been the most coherent of things.

There were bruises on her wrists, and they were bent at odd angles. He wondered if her wrists were broken. There was nothing in the apartment to suggest that anything had happened; he had found no traces of anyone else in the apartment, and he hadn't found any weapon. Had she just fallen? But then who had been the anonymous 911 caller?

And could "fallen" really explain all those injuries? The head trauma could have been caused by hitting her head against the ground when she fell, and her wrists could be broken; it appeared as though she had fallen on top of them. But they bruising pretty quickly…but then again, how long had she been lying there? He felt her chest and stomach and was shocked when he pulled back her turtleneck to find bruises on her chest. How hard had she hit the ground?

Maybe she hadn't hit the ground at all. He felt himself instinctively reach for his gun, and then reminded himself that the apartment _was_ clear. The fact the apartment was empty was actually quite irrelevant; if anyone had attacked her, they could have run. He walked slowly around the apartment, looking for clues that someone else had been there. He frowned and bent over her coffee table.

_Hey sweetie,_

_I came home and you were asleep. I didn't have the heart to wake you. I'm going to crash in your bedroom, okay? Come wake me up when you're feeling better._

_Love,_

_Robbie_

There was no one in the bedroom. If Robbie had been there, he wasn't there now. From the language in the note, it seemed that the woman had a strong relation to him, whoever he was. Husband? Boyfriend? He wondered when that note had been written. There was nothing to suggest the note had been written today, except that he wasn't sure why such an unimportant note would have been lying around for that long. Maybe Robbie had made the anonymous 911 call…but no, that wasn't right. Why would someone close to her make an anonymous phone call and not even bother to tell the operator his name?

Unless Robbie _had_ been there today and then had fled after _attacking_ the woman. He felt something nag at him; the bruises on the woman easily fit the pattern of repeated domestic violence. The bruises on her chest indicated Robbie used her as a daily punching bag, and the bruises on her wrists suggested rape. Whoever Robbie was, it was clear they would be talking to him shortly.

He made his way back over to the woman and checked her pulse and breathing again. He felt his stomach drop when he felt her breath suddenly stop against his cheek. He tilted her head back gently, pinched her nose, and began breathing into her mouth. Two breaths, check for breathing. He repeated this until the distant ambulance sirens were no longer distant, and until she had been carried away by the paramedics and rushed to the nearest hospital.

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His head was in his hands, his knuckles kneading his forehead. His breathing was slow and deliberate, meant to clear his head, rid himself of reality. He rocked back and forth languidly, thinking and doing nothing but thinking, because there was nothing else that could be done.

He hated sitting around waiting for something to happen. He had never been a patient man, never able to sit still for too long at a time, especially not when he thought – no, he _knew_ – that something was wrong. She was lying to him. She was such a terrible liar. Her eyes said everything that her mouth did not; he was surprised that after so long with him she hadn't realized that he already knew the truth, no matter how she lied. He hadn't meant to let her lie; he hadn't meant to just leave her there. He had called 911 because it was the only thing he could do. She had told him to leave. She should have known better.

She should have known that he would never leave. She should have known that her lies meant next to nothing because he already knew the truth. She should have known that he would be willing to help her. No, maybe she shouldn't have known that. But she should've known that it would be okay if she told him the truth. She should have known that she didn't have to be alone.

He let his chair legs hit the ground with a thump. Leaning forward on his case, he pushed himself up from the chair. He limped slowly to the phone on his desk, hoping to talk to Wilson, but before he could pick up the receiver, he was distracted by someone pushing open his door.

"House!"

It was Cuddy. It was Cuddy as he liked her best, which was to say, when she was flustered and a bit frantic, usually as a result of him. She walked quickly into his office, her heels clicking loudly against the floor. He looked up at her as she entered, waiting for her to speak again.

"It's Cameron," she said breathlessly. "She's been brought into the E.R."

He didn't need to hear any more than that. He limped as fast as his lame leg would allow, and Cuddy jogged along side him.

"What happened?" House barked at her as they continued their stride.

"Someone called 911, anonymously. Police found her passed on the floor. She stopped breathing just before the paramedics arrived," Cuddy answered quickly.

"They figure out why she passed out?"

Cuddy shook her head. "I don't know. Some of her ribs are cracked and she's got all these bruises; it looks like it could be a really bad fall."

_Bruises?_ House growled lowly. He wondered where the bruises were. Chances were, the bruises were not going to fit the pattern of a typical fall, unless she had fallen down several flights of stairs. And even then, he knew she hadn't. He had a pretty good idea of exactly what had happened to her.

Anger boiled inside of him and it was anger that he never knew he could feel towards another person. Usually his anger was directed at himself or an inanimate object; this time, it was towards a human being. A human being had the capacity to injure Cameron this badly. A human being had the capacity to lie, and to manipulate, to love, and to abuse. This particular human being, he knew, had done all of the above.

He could not believe anyone had the nerve to hurt Cameron so badly. Or maybe he could believe it, but he didn't want to believe it. No, that wasn't right either. He believed it. He didn't want it to have happened, that was it. He wished it had never happened. He didn't want to think about seeing her lying broken on a hospital bed. He didn't want her to be injured, or fighting for her life; this wasn't supposed to happen. He clenched his cane as he walked faster still. This wasn't supposed to happen. It just wasn't right.

He was enraged. Anger wasn't enough any more. He wanted to punish him; he wanted to kill him for what he had done to her. It didn't matter that she had denied the abuse when he asked her earlier. It didn't matter at all. The proof of his suspicions was lying on a hospital bed in the E.R.; he didn't need her word to back him up. She wouldn't be able to deny it any longer anyway. The police had to be involved. He knew she was scared, but she wasn't stupid. She wouldn't lie to the police. And she definitely wouldn't lie to save her sorry excuse for a relationship.

"Hey!"

There he was, pacing anxiously outside the trauma room. He was not looking in through the window; perhaps he couldn't bear to face the damage he had done, or maybe he just wanted to hide a smug smile on his face from breaking out over the fruits of his labor. House was furious. His thoughts were no longer enough. Words would not be enough. He could just yell at Chase. That wasn't nearly enough. That wasn't doing any one justice. Cameron was fighting for her life as a result of him, and yelling wasn't going to change that. Chase needed to feel pain. He needed to know what it felt like.

He made his way to Chase as fast as his lame leg and cane would allow, ignoring Cuddy's questioning stare. He raised his hand and slammed the younger doctor across the face. Cuddy shouted out in protest, but House didn't hear what she was saying. All he knew was that he wanted to cause Chase as much pain as possible.

He raised his fists and struck down again and again, hitting Chase as many times as he could. He felt hands trying to pull him back, trying to stop him, but he couldn't stop. Nothing would ever be enough. "Is this what you did to her?" he shouted at Chase. "Is this how you hurt her?" Chase cried out in pain and House felt a wave of grim satisfaction wash over him.

"Did she cry out to you too?" he bellowed. "You didn't stop, did you? DID YOU?" he roared. Chase mumbled something incoherent, his words unintelligible amidst his bleeding nose and mouth,

"House – no!"

This time it wasn't Cuddy, but Wilson that was calling his name. It was Wilson that pulled him off the younger doctor, Wilson who was shaking his head at Cuddy. Cuddy was dragging Chase back away from House's fists, pulling him over to examine his bleeding face. The world passed in slowest moments, taking with each second an eternity. The world moved in slow motion. He was numb. He watched through empty eyes as Wilson led him away from Chase, away from Cuddy, away from Cameron, and away from everything else. His best friend led him to his office, and they didn't stop until the door had shut behind them.


	6. Will and Won't

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything, of course!

**A/N:** Thanks to all my wonderful reviewers. You guys really make my day and inspire me to continue writing. I am so sorry for the delay. I had major computer problems and I lost the entire beginning to this chapter. But it's finished now, and I hope you all enjoy it! I'll try to be faster with the next one. Please review because reviews make my day and I love hearing what everyone has to think about this story.

* * *

"What the hell were you thinking?"

Each word was spoken so slowly, so deliberately, it could have passed for its own sentence. He kept his eyes trained on his cane, not wanting to look up, too unsure of his voice to say anything. Angry emotion coursed through his veins, pumping him full of adrenaline. His eyes found his bruising knuckles, clenched on top of his cane; he flexed his hand slowly, admiring the discoloration with interest. He did not wince at the pain.

"I was thinking," he answered slowly, without looking up from his hand, "that Chase need to be put in his place."

He raised his head slightly and looked directly at Wilson. Wilson was staring back at him incredulously.

"Right," Wilson said, taking care to draw out the vowels. "Yes, I'm sure it all makes perfect sense somewhere in that messed up head of yours."

House growled low in his throat. "Don't you get it?" he yelled. "This isn't just some game; this is Cameron's _life_!"

Wilson frowned, his eyes narrowed, and he looked at House suspiciously. "What are you talking about?"

He couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't stand the complete lack of comprehension from the man standing across from him. He couldn't stand the lies; he hated the lies. Everybody lied, but why did they have to make everything so damn difficult on purpose?

"I'm talking about Chase using Cameron as a human punching bag!" he shouted angrily, slamming his cane into the ground to emphasize his anger. "He's been abusing her for months; it only takes half a brain to see that! She's withdrawn, she's _lying_, she's calling in sick when it's so obvious that she isn't! He's beating the crap out of her, and _that's_ why she's always wincing in pain, and _that's_ why she is always covering herself up. It's because she's got broken ribs and a hell of a lot of bruises. And none of you did a damn thing about it, so she's lying in the damn E.R. now after being beaten half to death!"

Wilson's face was arranged in a curious expression. His eyebrows were raised, and although House could see remnants of shock in his eyes, he also saw the shadows of disbelief. Before he could say anything more in his defense, Wilson raised a hand. "She told you all of this?"

House opened and closed his mouth, but no words came out. No, of course she hadn't told him this! She was too scared to utter a single word. She was afraid of Chase, and maybe even afraid of him, House, and what he would say if he found out the truth. Then again, he already knew the truth.

"House," Wilson was saying, "you can't just assume things like this. Do you know how much trouble you're going to be in when you try to explain this all to Cuddy? And the police? You know that if Cameron says it didn't happen, you'll have a hard time getting in your word over hers."

"I know that!" he snapped. "Don't you think I know that?" He sighed angrily and lowered his gaze to his cane. "Why does this have to be so difficult?"

Wilson sighed and sat down at his desk. "You know it's hard to believe you, right? I mean, House, come on! It's Chase! He would never hurt her! He dotes on her, and follows her around like a puppy dog."

House looked up. "Seeing is believing."

Wilson shook his head. "No, hearing is believing," he corrected him. "Cameron's going to need to back this up. House, no one's going to believe you unless she admits that it happened. If she says it didn't happen…" Wilson hesitated before continuing, "…it didn't happen."

House turned away quickly and pulled open the door. "You know," he called over his shoulder, "it's the non-believers like you that make this kind of tragedy so easy to happen in the first place!" He slammed Wilson's door shut and stormed away from the office.

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She felt herself coming to slowly, her eyes trying to force themselves open before her mind would allow them to. She became aware of her surroundings gradually, feeling first the lumpy bed beneath her, and then the realization of the fact she was lying down. Next came the pain, a rush of pain that made her head spin and ache and made her wish she could just continue lying wherever she was forever with her eyes closed until merciful sleep could overtake her again.

Once her mind got over the initial shock of the pain, she began wondering about perhaps a more important question – why was she in pain? No sooner had this thought flashed across her mind when her memories came swarming back to her. She was in pain because Chase had beaten her. She was in pain because she had been repeatedly thrown against the door. She was in pain because she couldn't stop crying. She was in pain because she had lied to House. She was in pain because she had talked to House in the first place.

"You're an idiot."

She shifted her sore body into a more comfortable position, trying to prop herself up against the pillows. He watched her struggle, but made no motion to help her, preferring to watch her plight in silence. His words had merely rebounded off of her, leaving little more than the shadow of a dent. He called her an idiot at least twice a day; that she could count on. What he was calling her an idiot for was often much more important. This time she knew it had nothing to do with a misdiagnosis or a bad idea during a differential. That frightened her. His words may have meant nothing to her, but the meaning behind those words meant practically everything in the world.

She continued to stare back at him in silence. She didn't want to open her mouth, unsure of what she wanted to say, knowing that he would never leave her alone. She wondered where Chase was; surely he had to be here somewhere. It would look rather suspicious if he had taken off, wouldn't it? He was probably around the hospital somewhere, perhaps in the cafeteria, presumably just getting himself another cup of coffee or something.

How had she gotten here? Thought her prolonged silence in response to House's statement was probably giving him even more ammunition, she was still not ready to respond. She had to know what had happened. Had Chase said anything? Had House said anything to Cuddy or Wilson? If so, had they believed him? Worse, had he confronted Chase and demanded answers from him? Cameron sincerely hoped not. She didn't need Chase thinking she had told any more people, or anyone at all, for that matter. How many people knew? That brought her back to her original question; how had she gotten her? Surely whoever had brought her in knew something…

"How did I get here?"

She hadn't meant to whisper, but that's how the words came out. House looked back at her, his head tilted slightly to the left as he answered her. He remained where he was, at the foot of her bed, but she knew he had heard her. He sucked in a deep breath.

"Well, I'm assuming it's because your mommy and daddy had some 'alone time' during their honeymoon…unless your mother used an artificial sperm. That would kind of suck, wouldn't it? You'd never know where that annoying knack for asking useless questions came from-"

"House."

She knew he knew what she was really asking. He was just giving her a hard time for the sake of giving her a hard time. The real answer was in there somewhere.

"Your friendly everyday paramedics brought you in," House answered quietly.

Whatever she had expected, it had not been that. She had been wildly thinking Chase, or perhaps even House might have – she hadn't known what else to think. No one else knew or suspected anything. How could the paramedics even have known where to have gone? She hadn't called them. Maybe Chase – and Cameron felt sick at this very thought – had called the paramedics to her apartment after leaving her unconscious on the floor. But that seemed unlikely; Chase would make himself look suspicious if he did that…or maybe he had called anonymously.

"A cop came to your apartment first," House was saying slowly, deliberately soft and slow so that he could force her to drink in every word. "He found you on the floor. You weren't breathing, so he had to revive you himself until the paramedics finally showed up. They brought you here." She whimpered softly, but House did not relent. He was staring directly into her eyes now, looking for clues, waiting for her reaction. He continued, "Broken ribs, head trauma. Consistent with being used as a human punching bag…" He had drawn out those last words as long she felt as thought they had been branded onto her, having hung deliberately and for so long in the tense air.

She wanted him to stop, and at the same time, she was begging him to continue. She had to know; she had to know everything. Something could still be done; she could still catch the damage if the broken dam containing her secrets had not flooded out of control yet. Her mind screamed for mercy, and yet her emotions clung to every word.

"Cuddy and Wilson already know, of course," he said matter-of-factly. Fear gripped her; what did that mean? Had they seen her in the trauma room, or did they know something more? How much had House told him of his suspicions? She couldn't think of anything to say, and so she said nothing at all.

"Give it up, Cameron," he said, and his voice was suddenly louder, harsher, firmer than she had ever heard it. "This is getting out of hand."

"What – what are you t-talking about?" she stammered. She was frozen. She couldn't think. She couldn't speak. She could barely breathe. He was looking at her with a dangerous expression on his face, like a cat that had just gotten its mouse. She was cornered. There was no way out of it…no way out, except denial. He was wrong, he had to be wrong. If she could just keep denying it, it would all go away…

"You're not fooling anyone, Cameron," House growled. "Come on, just say it!"

"No – no!"

"Say it!" he shouted. Her eyes widened and she felt her throat constrict. She couldn't say anything at all. Her mouth opened and closed, but she couldn't take in any air. House appeared not to notice.

"Do you like the attention or something?" he asked. "Does it make you feel _special_ to be Chase's victim? Think it'll get more people to notice you?"

"NO!" she gasped.

"Then why are you lying?" House thundered.

"I – I'm not -" she spluttered, but she couldn't complete her sentence. The words froze in her mouth as her brain spun for oxygen. She saw House flicker in and out of focus, and then she blinked, her eyes so heavy, her head so light, she blinked, and then fell back into a world of darkness.


	7. He Said, She Said

**Disclaimer: **I do not own House, M.D. or anything related.

**A/N: **Thanks, as always, to the wonderful people reading and reviewing this story. You guys really make my day! Special thanks to **obsessedwithstabler **for her assistance with this chapter. Per usual, review, as I would love to know what you guys have to say!

* * *

It was the shrieking of the monitor that sent her running back to Cameron's room. She had been in an exam room a few rooms down, examining Chase's face, listening to House's fellow moan and rant about how out of his mind his boss was. Cuddy had listened with interest to what he had to say; she herself was furious with House. She could not see a justification for what he had done; sure, he might have been worried about Cameron, but that hardly justified attacking another doctor on his team. He had shouted things at Chase, unsettling things, but Chase denied any connection to them. Cuddy would have to ask House herself.

She skidded to a stop outside Cameron's room and yanked open the door. "What happened?" she asked quickly.

House was standing at the foot of Cameron's bed, watching in interest as the nurses gave her oxygen. Something wasn't right here. Cameron had been fine; she had been _stable_ when she had last stepped outside. Now the younger doctor was unconscious again and in respiratory distress. Cuddy had a sinking feeling House had something to do with this undesirable change in Cameron's status.

"House, out! Now!" she shouted, looking pointedly at the door. She marched from the room with the other doctor following in her wake.

"What did you do?" she asked angrily, as soon as he had closed the door behind him.

"Nothing," he answered nonchalantly.

She didn't buy it. "You must have done something!"

He pulled a face. "Why do you always think _I'm_ the one doing something?"

Cuddy threw up her arms in frustration. "Because you always are, House!"

"Why can't Chase ever be the one doing something?" he whined.

"Because it's Chase," she answered, as though that were enough of a reason. "And speaking of Chase," she added, building up steam, "what the hell happened back there? Assaulting another doctor? I could have you fired for that!"

"But you won't have me fired."

"That's hardly the point!" She realized a split second later her response was all wrong.

"Aha! So you won't have me fired! What's the problem then?"

He was infuriating, and purposely so. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, bringing her hands to her hips. "The problem is you assaulting another doctor without provocation. There wasn't even a reason!"

"Who said there wasn't a reason?" he asked calmly. She detected the hint of a growl in his voice.

"So what did Chase do, then?"

"Not _do_," he answered. "Do-_ing_. I think he's abusing Cameron."

_WHAT?_

Was he kidding? He had to be kidding. That was absolutely ridiculous. She couldn't believe she even thought to believe him for a second. Where had her common sense gone? Chase wasn't abusing Cameron; how could House even think that? For all she had observed, Chase _adored_ Cameron. This just wasn't possible.

"What makes you think that?"

He didn't even blink. "Have you seen her lately? God, _I_ have. Seen those bruises on her arms and chest? _Oh wait!"_ he rushed on when she opened her mouth to speak. "She covers them up. But _surely_ you noticed something when they dragged her in on a stretcher, unconscious!"

Cuddy shook her head disbelievingly. "And you think _Chase_ did that? No – wait!" she added, when she saw he was preparing his retort. "You _know_ Chase did that!"

"Yes!" House exclaimed happily. "Thanks for catching on so quickly." He shook his head dramatically. "Wilson still doesn't believe me."

And he shouldn't, she added, though privately. "Can you prove it?"

He clicked his tongue. "_Prove_ is an interesting word."

She tilted her head and looked at him sternly. "So you can't prove it." It wasn't a question.

"Does it matter?"

"Of course it matters!" she hissed. "There's nothing anyone can do if there's no proof, unless Cameron actually comes forward and says it happened." Somehow, she thought the chances of that were few. Not that it mattered – that would only matter if the abuse were real.

He looked at her seriously. "Do you believe me?" he asked quietly.

She hesitated a split second before answering, "No."

He growled angrily. "And your explanation for how she ended up here unconscious is…?"

She sighed loudly. This entire conversation was ludicrous. She was wasting her time. "I don't know, House! There are dozens of explanations. I'm going to wait for her to regain consciousness and tell me what happened before I start making up stories." She looked at him sternly. "This is a very serious accusation. This isn't a game!"

"This _is_ my serious face, you know."

"Really?" she said sarcastically. "Because I thought that was your 'I'm an ass' face. If all you're going to do is upset her, stay away from Cameron. And keep your mouth shut!"

She turned on her heel and walked briskly down the hall. The conversation was over, even though House probably didn't want it to be. She needed to talk to Wilson, figure out what they were going to do. Knowing House, it wouldn't be much longer before everyone found out he thought Chase was abusing Cameron. She didn't need Cameron under that kind of pressure. The police were already involved, probably thanks to House, and they would have to question her soon. She sighed. This was a complete mess. It was hard enough being worried about Cameron without having to deal with House and his crazy theories.

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When she came to again, the first thing she felt was something warm on her hand. It took her the next moment to realize that warm something was a human hand, its soft fingers laced with her own. She didn't know who the hand belonged to, but it brought her comfort regardless. She felt the hand gently squeeze hers. She was too weak to squeeze back, but when she felt another hand brush her hair back from her face, she forced her eyes to slowly flutter open.

"Dr. Cameron," someone whispered. "Dr. Cameron, can you hear me?"

"Sir, please," came another voice, and this one she recognized. "Now really isn't the best time."

What was Chase doing here? One second later, she realized it was Chase who was holding her hand, bringing her such nonverbal comfort. She didn't know what to say to him, or what to think about anything…

What the hell had happened?

"Dr. Cameron," said the unfamiliar voice again. "Can you open your eyes for me?"

She opened her eyes slowly, blinking confusedly a few times while taking in the scene in front of her. Chase was seated to her left, his hand in hers, just as she had suspected. The other speaker was a police officer who was standing at the foot of her bed where House had been standing before.

"House?" she asked wildly. She glanced quickly around the room. He was nowhere to be seen.

"House isn't here," Chase said gently, running his thumb along her palm. "He left awhile ago."

She nodded, and then glanced up at Chase's face. Her eyes widened in shock. His nose was swollen and bruised, and he had another bruise coloring his cheek. "What happened to you?" she demanded.

Chase's look hardened. "Nothing," he said sullenly.

"Dr. Cameron, if you are ready, I need to ask you a few questions," the police officer interrupted in an orderly tone. "Dr. Chase, if you could step out for a few moments…I need to speak to Dr. Cameron alone."

Chase gave her a reassuring smile and then left the room. She watched him leave with a sinking feeling. She didn't know what to say, how safe it was to answer. What did the cop already know? How much had House told him about his suspicions? Chase was still here, so nothing too awful could have happened yet. She allowed her mind to drift to what had happened to his face. Had House done that? She shuddered at the thought. How much had she missed?

"Dr. Cameron," the police officer said, perching himself on the edge of the chair Chase had previously occupied. "Can you tell me what happened?"

She opened her mouth and then closed it. She didn't know what to say. She could lie, she'd have to lie, if she didn't want the abuse getting out. It looked as though that would be her only option; clearly House's suspicions weren't enough to convince the police to arrest Chase. She looked up at the police officer, and then back down at her hands. She took a deep breath. "I…fell."

"You fell?" the cop repeated, jotting something down on his legal pad. "How did you fall?"

Cameron shifted uncomfortably. "I must have just tripped over something, a lamp cord, maybe? I hit my head hard on the ground, and landed on my wrist."

The police officer nodded. "We received an anonymous 911 call. Did you know of anyone nearby your apartment before your accident?"

Would it be safe to tell the police officer about House? Probably not: she didn't want to give him a reason to ask House any more questions. That would just be asking for trouble, especially if House was intent on proving that Chase had abused her. This thought brought her a combination of fear and odd comfort.

"No."

The police officer wrote something else on the legal pad. "Dr. Cameron," he began carefully. "This next question I ask you might be difficult to answer, but I need for you to be completely honest with me." She nodded slowly. "We have received information about allegations of domestic violence in your apartment." He looked at her carefully. "Has someone been abusing you?"

"No."

Somehow, lying to the police officer was very different from lying to House. House, who knew the answer already, was asking just to get her to admit it. The police officer didn't know the answer – or at least, there was less of a chance that he knew the answer. He also didn't have any invested interest in what she said. There was simply no need to tell him. There was nothing he would do anyway, and she had everything to lose if Chase found out what she had done.

The police officer licked his lips. "All right," he said. "Thank you, Dr. Cameron."


	8. And Baby Made Three

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

**A/N:** Many apologies for the slow update this time around. Thanks, as always, to the many readers and reviewers that make my day. I hope you all continue to enjoy and express your thoughts and opinions in a review.

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"Dr. Cuddy?"

She looked up from the folder she had been reading from. It was late, and she was tired, and she wanted nothing more than to leave for home where she could relax with a hot shower and a glass of wine. A young nurse stood uncertainly in the doorway. Cuddy recognized her from the E.R. She sat up a little straighter.

"Yes, how is she?" Cuddy asked, referring to Cameron. She knew no nurse from the E.R. would be bothering her this late if it weren't important, and Cuddy couldn't think of anything in the E.R. more important than Cameron.

"She's sleeping," the nurse answered. "I have the results of her blood work for you." She handed Cuddy the papers.

Cuddy took them uncertainly. "What do they show?" Her eyes quickly scanned the lab results. She frowned and her eyes widened. She looked back at the nurse. "She's pregnant?"

The nurse sighed heavily and shook her head. "Was," she corrected softly. "She was pregnant. I don't think the baby survived the fall."

Her hand went to her mouth in shock and horror. "You did an ultrasound?" she asked, in desperate hopes that maybe something had been missed.

The nurse nodded. "Nothing."

Cuddy rubbed the bridge of her nose. Without looking up, she asked, "Does she know?"

"No," the nurse answered. "Not yet. I thought that – maybe – someone else should tell her…" She trailed off lamely.

Cuddy sighed. "Of course you did." She stood up slowly, closing the folder on the desk in front of her. "I'll let her know."

The nurse left, but Cuddy remained where she was. There was nothing good about this situation. She knew that Cameron didn't need another thing on her plate. Things were bad enough with just House's crazy suspicions about Chase. She tried to push those suspicions to the back of her mind, but something nagged at her that maybe House was right. House had many crazy ideas, most of which he put to his medical practice. Most of which, she reminded herself, turned out to be correct.

But this was insanity. This wasn't some brilliant case that only House could solve. This was someone's life – someone on his team's life – this was Cameron's life. Everyone knew her. Why was House the only one with this suspicion? It wasn't as though no one else could recognize systems of abuse victims. They had all been to medical school, too. Perhaps the better explanation was that there was no explanation. They didn't have suspicions because there was nothing to be suspicious about. Chase was the last person to hurt Cameron. He loved her.

Maybe that was it, then. Though she didn't want to entertain this possibility either, Cuddy had to admit that maybe there was something there – the tension between House and Chase. There had always been tension between House and Chase, but – was it just her imagination? – had it reached a new level in the past months? She couldn't help feeling that House had _feelings_ for Cameron, feelings that went far beyond the boss to employee relationship, and perhaps even beyond a doctor being overprotective of his team members. Maybe any other doctor, but not House. He wasn't overprotective of anyone. He wasn't even _protective_ of anyone to begin with. That only left one possibility: House was _jealous_.

She sighed again. Jealous or not jealous, she couldn't devote anymore time to House at the moment. Now she had to focus on Cameron, Cameron the woman who was about to be informed that she had lost her child. Cuddy hadn't even known Cameron was pregnant. She wondered if even Cameron had known.

She crossed the room quickly and turned out the light as she left. Her heels clicked down the hall as she marched to the E.R. She wasn't sure if Cameron was even awake yet – the nurse had said she was sleeping – but she supposed it wouldn't hurt for her to sit there and wait. She didn't want Cameron to have to wake up alone.

But when Cuddy entered Cameron's hospital room, she found the younger doctor was awake. She was sitting up in her hospital bed, leaning back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling. When she entered, she saw Cameron's head jerk slightly at the motion of the door opening and then her eyes met Cuddy's. Cuddy gave her a small smile and approached the bed.

"How are you feeling?"

"All right," Cameron answered softly. "Less tired than before."

"That's good." Cuddy sat down in the chair next to the bed. She was unsure of exactly what to say, or even how to begin what she had to say. She stared at Cameron a few moments, chewing on her lower lip. Luckily, the younger doctor saved her from starting.

"What time is it?"

"Just after nine," Cuddy answered, checking her watch.

"Am I going to be discharged tonight?"

Cuddy shook her head. "No. We're keeping you here overnight for observation. You can go home tomorrow, if everything's still clear."

Cameron sighed slightly, but didn't say anything else. Cuddy knew she should say something. Cameron had to know. She couldn't believe how difficult this was going to be. She didn't want to cause Cameron any more pain, but she supposed that not knowing had to be worse than knowing. And Cameron was going to find out sooner or later anyway, when the physical effects made themselves known.

"The results of your labs are back," Cuddy began softly. Cameron looked at her carefully, urging her with her eyes to continue. "Your white count is slightly higher than normal, which could be a sign of infection…" Cuddy hesitated, and Cameron noticed.

"What's wrong?" she asked nervously.

Cuddy swallowed hard. "Your labs," she continued quietly, "also showed the presence of the hormone HCG."

Cameron's eyes widened. "I'm pregnant?"

Cuddy sighed, but didn't lower her gaze. She looked at Cameron seriously, blinked once, and then corrected gently, "You were pregnant."

It was as though her heart were being torn out of her chest and stomped on. She saw Cameron's jaw drop in the split second before her face crumpled. Cuddy hesitated, frozen by the horrible sounds of Cameron's sobs, and then reached out and grasped the younger woman's hand. "I'm so, so sorry," she said sadly, though she knew her words were empty. Nothing could match the pain of losing a child, even if it was a child Cameron hadn't known she'd had.

"How – how…?" Cameron stuttered. "How do you – what happened?"

"The nurse did an ultrasound of your abdomen when you came in to look for internal bleeding," Cuddy explained softly. "There was no baby." She squeezed Cameron's hand tighter. "It must have been the impact of the fall."

Cameron shook her head furiously. "No, no! How could this have happened?" Her sobs grew louder and her grip tightened around Cuddy's hand. "Are – are you s-sure?"

"Yes," she responded firmly.

Cameron let out a wail of despair. "Does – does Chase know?"

Cuddy shook her head. "Not yet. Do you want to tell him, or do you want me to…?"

"Please – you tell him!" Cameron insisted quickly. "I – I don't think I can…"

Cuddy nodded understandingly. "I can tell him."

"Thank you," she whispered.

Neither woman spoke after that, but neither had to. Cuddy stayed with Cameron as she waited for the younger doctor to be taken by sleep, and even then, she was sure, the sleep was plagued by the same nightmares that would haunt Cameron when she was awake.

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He found her in her office late the next night. It was nearing nine, and nearly every other doctor had already gone home. Not her, though. She still hadn't left, even though the one time he had glimpsed her that day, it looked like she hadn't slept at all the night before. He knocked lightly on the wood door frame and entered when she gave permission.

"Ah, Dr. Wilson," she said, looking up briefly. "Just one moment, please."

"No problem," he said, taking a seat on her couch. He watched as she signed her name on a few more pieces of paper and then closed the folder. She stood up slowly and walked over to him.

"I wanted to talk to you about Cameron," she said without pretense. "I – I know that it seems hard to believe, and I – I don't know if I believe it – him – but – do you think that it is at all possible that House is…correct?"

"Correct about Cameron?" Wilson repeated. "The abuse, you mean?" Cuddy nodded.

"I know it seems unreal, but with the miscarriage…" She cleared her throat. "I know a fall could conceivably cause her to miscarry, but it had to have been a pretty awful fall…"

"It was, though," Wilson pointed out. "It had to have been, to cause that amount of damage…those bruises and the ribs…"

"But those injuries are also consistent with domestic violence," Cuddy interrupted. She sighed. "I know I shouldn't be listening to House. It's just – I would feel so guilty if he was right and we didn't do a thing about it."

"It's not just us," Wilson said. "Cameron says it didn't happen and why would she lie? She knows better. Why would she protect Chase? She wouldn't. She doesn't have to. He doesn't own her; she's stronger than that."

"Is she, though?" Cuddy asked softly. She shook her head and rubbed her eyes. "Never mind, forget it. That was a stupid question."

"No, it wasn't," Wilson corrected. "You're just tired and worried about her. You need to get some sleep."

"Maybe you're right," she said quietly. She offered him a small smile and then stood up. "Will you check on her on your way out? She wasn't cleared for discharge."

He nodded. "Sure."

"Find out how she's holding up. Losing a baby has got to be hell." She turned to grab her coat.

"Did someone tell Chase?" he asked.

"I did, earlier," she responded, her back still to him. She turned back around. "He didn't really say much, but I think the news really devastated him." She finished buttoning her coat and picked up her bag. "I'll see you tomorrow," she said, turning off her office light. Wilson followed her out of her office.

He didn't leave the hospital until at least another hour after his encounter with Cuddy, but he kept his promise to stop by Cameron's room. Like he had expected, she was asleep. What he did not expect to see was House sitting beside her bedside, watching her as she slept. He caught House's eye when his friend looked up, but he didn't say anything. Wilson nodded once and kept walking. As he reached the end of the hallway, he saw a dark figure approaching him. Wilson recognized him a moment later.

"I'm so sorry for your loss, Chase," he said quietly.

Chase looked up. His eyes were blood shot and his face was set. Wilson thought he looked awful. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Instead, he just jerked his head in a nod and then continued walking. He walked like a man with only one purpose, and that was to get as far away from possible, physically, emotionally, and mentally.

* * *

**One more thing:** I have, as some of you may have noticed, begun another writing project entitled No Limit to Infinity. It is a House crossover with CSI (the original one), cowritten with Iamokota. We have both put lots of effort into this story and although there is only one chapter up at the moment, there are many more to come! We would appreciate any and all feedback on this story. It can be accessed on my author page. A review for this story would make me very happy, and a happy author always increases the chance of an update of her stories (empirically proven, you know).


	9. Beauty in the Breakdown

**Disclaimer:** I still own nothing.

**A/N:** What a surprise - you didn't have to wait twenty (or thirty!) days for an update. I was just struck by a muse, I guess, so don't get too comfortable. Thanks, as always, to the wonderful reviewers from the last chapter. All opinions are welcome in reviews; I really appreciate hearing what you think. And I shall continue my shameless advertisement for No Limit to Infinity. Just click on my author's page to read it. Iamokota is a fabulous writer and she and I have worked very hard on that piece; we would appreciate any and all feedback.

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Losing a baby hurt like hell. She hadn't even imagined such pain was possible, that such utter and complete emotional and physical agony could overcome a person, but it had. She could no longer find a comfortable position on the bed, because even when her sore back and chest were not being pressed up against the sheets, her heart felt broken. She couldn't go for more than an hour without crying. She hadn't spoken much to anyone that day, not since her restless night of waking up every two hours or so from a nightmare. And then her tortured mind wouldn't give her body a rest, and would instead insist on supplying her with horrible mental images of wide-eyed babies dying before her eyes.

It was agony. She couldn't eat, and even if the food hadn't been so atrocious, she didn't think she could bring herself to expend the effort needed. She couldn't focus on anything other than her loss. TV and books were hardly suitable distractions. Cuddy had visited her once, but only to tell her that she had informed Chase about the miscarriage. Cameron had nodded blindly, but she couldn't bring herself to say anything else. Foreman had stopped in to see her, and so had Wilson, but neither one had stayed for longer than ten minutes. House had taken his lunch break in her room, but she hadn't thought of anything to say to him, and he ate in relative silence. She knew he was only there to catch his soaps. It had surprised her at first that he hadn't spent the entire time interrogating her about Chase, but she was glad that he hadn't and her feelings of relief overwhelmed her need for answers. She was glad for some company, something to make her feel still human, and she was glad that company had not made her talk, but instead had just been there.

There was a void inside of her, a great gaping hole, and it felt like nothing could fill it. She hadn't even known she had been pregnant. She wondered how far along she was. Cuddy hadn't really said. She supposed it didn't really matter now anyway. She felt her eyes filling with tears again and she fell back against her pillows hopelessly, letting them overtake her.

How, how could this have happened? Why, after everything, did fate have to be so cruel? She hadn't needed this, not on top of everything else. Why did the world seek only to torture her? How could there be a God, when such horrible things could happen to her? What had happened to the saying, "lightning doesn't strike the same place twice"? Cameron felt as though she had been struck by lightning several more times than twice. Was the world really this unfair?

_It's your fault_, she told herself miserably. _You let him get away with it. _He had been using her, abusing her for weeks. She hadn't done a thing about it. She had even lied to protect him. She had been interrogated – by House and the police – for information. She had been asked in a safe environment. She _could_ have said something. She _could_ have said a lot of things. She could have confessed. She could have prevented this entire tragedy from happening. She could have stopped him from killing their child.

She hadn't.

She hadn't stopped him from hitting her the first time, or the second, or even the tenth. She hadn't stopped him from knocking her unconscious, slamming her body to the ground again and again. She hadn't stopped him from breaking her ribs, from giving her the bruises that she had to keep hidden. She hadn't stopped him from raping her. She hadn't stopped him from murdering their child.

Murder…_he committed murder_. The words rang empty and cold in her mind. He had _murdered_ their child. He could punch her again and again, but she would still be alive. Alive, damaged, but alive. This child was not alive, no longer alive. Her life was something she could get back. She could regain consciousness. She could allow her bruises to heal, with time. She would go on. Her child…this child…that life was not something she could ever get back. Even if she got pregnant again, it would not be the same child. This was a life that he had taken, and it was a life that couldn't be replaced. It could never be replaced.

"Good afternoon, Dr. Cameron," a red-haired nurse chirped as she entered the room. She checked Cameron's vitals and then smiled. "Everything looks all right. We can discharge you now, if you'd like."

Cameron nodded. "Okay," she said quietly.

The nurse smiled at her sympathetically. "I know it hurts, sweetie, but it does get better, you know."

She could only stare at the nurse. "Have you ever miscarried?"

The nurse shook her head. "Well – no. Not me, physically. But my partner – she did. And that hurt me too, a lot, you know?"

"How…How do you move on?" she whispered.

The nurse sighed. "Well, time moves on. And you kind of just move with it."

Frantic shouts suddenly filled the main floor of the E.R. The nurse ducked her head out into the hall to see what had happened. Cameron saw her shake her head and then turn back around.

"That one looks bad, she does. The police are there – sounds like a case of abuse, if you ask me. This one just went one step too far – she's covered in blood…"

Cameron felt bile rising in her throat and she had to fight hard to keep it down. Was that what the nurses had said about her when she had entered the E.R. covered in blood and lying unconscious on a gurney? Had they speculated about abuse cases and partners going too far? Maybe this case was just special, she tried to calm herself. Somehow she knew that wasn't true.

"Dr. Cameron?" Cameron jerked and looked back at the nurse. The nurse smiled. "Are you all right?"

She swallowed hard and nodded. "I'd like to leave now."

She did leave that day, but it had taken another two hours before the discharge could be processed and she could finally leave. She was wearing clothes that Chase had brought for her the other day, when they had thought she could be discharged. It was getting late, and she wondered vaguely where Chase was. Normally she'd suspect a case, but she knew he had been given days off to grieve. She had the same.

As she walked down the E.R. hall, she passed a trauma room with a white sheet over the gurney. Fear gripped her; had the abuse victim died? She looked around her, but the hallway was empty. Taking a deep breath, she stepped inside. She had to know.

She approached the gurney slowly in bated silence. She reached out her hand and pulled back the sheet carefully. She gasped and scurried back from the gurney, leaving the woman's face exposed.

She was young, with long blonde hair. Her hair was caked with dried blood and Cameron could see a large head wound. Her breath caught in her throat and she could only stare in horror. So this was it. This was what happened. Is this what she would have looked like if she had died?

Died…she could have _died._ Chase could have murdered _her_, not just their unborn child, but _her_, _her_, someone that people already knew. He could have killed her in her apartment that night. She could have been taken to a morgue instead of a hospital. It could have been his snarling face as the last thing she saw in this world. Her last memory would have been pain. Pain, so much pain. Pain and helplessness. Hopelessness. Despair.

Unable to take it any longer, she threw the sheet back over the woman's face. Fighting to keep her face straight, she walked quickly down the E.R. hallway to the exit. It was a relief to feel the cool air on her face. As soon as she had turned the corner and was out of sight of the people working at the front desk, she let the tears escape her. And she ran. She didn't know where she was running to, but she only knew that she couldn't stop. She sobbed as she ran, tearing down the street as fast as she could. For a moment, just that moment, it seemed as though she could run away from everything. She could leave it all behind her and never see it again. She was running from the woman lying dead in the E.R., murdered by someone she thought she could trust. She was running from her miscarriage, and from everything that had happened since Chase had first laid a hand on her. She was running from Chase himself, running away now, as if she could ever get away. She was running because she had nothing left to do, and even though she had no idea what she was running towards, she knew that she couldn't stay where she was.

"Cameron!"


	10. Over My Head

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

**A/N:** Thanks, as always, to the wonderful people that review this story and keep me motivated to continue. My muse for this story was all over the place, which seems to fit, since the thoughts of the people in this story are also all over the place. The predictions were quite enjoyable to read, I must say, and you shall have your answer soon enough! I'm sorry in advance for the ending of this chapter. Please review - I love hearing what all of you have to say!

* * *

He saw her running down the street as fast as she could, and for a moment, he wasn't even sure it was her. He could hear what he thought were strangled sobs piercing the chilly night air as her feet pounded down the cement. He had no idea what she thought she was doing – surely she couldn't be running home from the hospital? She lived too far away for that. Something had to be really, really wrong for her to be running like this. He didn't hesitate a moment longer. Pulling his car over to the side of the road, he leapt out of the driver's side.

"Cameron!"

She didn't turn around immediately, but he saw her stop up ahead. He ran to her. "Cameron, wait!"

She still hadn't moved. Now that he was closer, he approached her slowly, not wanting to startle or scare her. He put his hand on her shoulder and then walked around to face her properly.

She was a mess. Her eyes were red and puffy and there were tears streaming down her face. He dug around in his pocket for a tissue, and upon producing one, he handed it to her. She took it from him with a grateful expression and blew her nose.

"Come on," he said, rubbing her shoulder. "Come on – come into my car. I'll drive you home."

She followed him wordlessly, which surprised him slightly. He hadn't expected her to come so readily, but he didn't question her. He opened the door for her on the passenger's side and then walked around to his side. Within moments, the car was cruising down the street again.

"I'm – I'm sorry," she whispered. It pained him to hear the misery in her voice. "I – I'm sorry you have to see me like this." She let out a choked sob.

"Cameron," he said soothingly, reaching his hand out to pat her arm as he pulled to a red light. "It's okay. Losing a child…it's…well, nothing really compares." He pressed his foot to the gas pedal as the light changed. "I know it must be hard-"

"You know nothing!"

He looked over at her, surprised by her outburst. As soon as she caught his eye, her face crumpled. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Wilson!"

He was a bit alarmed by her outburst, but he didn't comment. Instead he reached out his hand and grasped her shoulder. "It's all right, Cameron," he said softly. "I understand you're really upset…"

"I feel so awful about all of this!" she sobbed. "I just – it's so hard, you know?"

He patted her shoulder reassuringly. "It's hard." He pulled the car in front of her apartment building and turned off the ignition. Cameron didn't move. He cleared his throat. "Do you – do you want me to walk with you inside?"

Cameron looked out the window. "We're here?" Wilson frowned at the note of panic in her voice. Her eyes had suddenly become wide and frightened and he couldn't help but see the trepidation in her face.

"Yes," he answered slowly. She just nodded vaguely. "Cameron?" he asked uncertainly. "Cameron, are you all right?"

"I…I can't be here."

His frown deepened. Something was really wrong. Cameron's face was slowly draining of color and she still hadn't moved from the moment he had turned off the ignition. He tried to think of something to say, something comforting, but he was having trouble focusing. He tried to focus on her, on what she needed right now, but his confusion was taking over his mental facilities.

"Come on," he prodded her gently. "I – I'll walk with you upstairs. You won't have to be alone…Chase is here too, isn't he? I can wait with you if he's not…"

"NO!"

Wilson blinked uncomprehendingly. "No? Uh, okay, I can stay here, and, uh, wait for you to get up to your apartment or something…"

Cameron shook her head rigorously. "No – no! Please – don't leave me here by myself! I don't want to be here, I can't be here!"

"You won't have to be alone," he said slowly. "I can stay here with you if Chase isn't here, and then I can leave once he gets here-"

For a moment, she looked horrified at the very idea, but the next second, her expression changed completely. She was no longer shaking her head, but nodded, just nodded, not in an expression of consent, but in thought. He could tell by the way her eyes softened and by the deep breath she let out that something had just dawned on her.

"Cameron?"

"I'm – I'm sorry, Wilson," she said softly. "You don't have to stay here; I'll be fine by myself."

He didn't know it was possible to be more confused than he had been before, but now he was. Cameron was making no sense. Her mind seemed to be all over the place, the pieces scattered about by losing the baby. Following them, trying to catch all of them, and make sense of what they were saying, was dizzying. He tried to make sense of them, but she was only scattering them more.

"Are you – are you going to be okay here by yourself?"

She nodded quickly. "Yes, I'll be fine." As if to demonstrate her resolution, she opened the passenger side door, stepped out, and walked around the front to her building. Wilson hesitated a second, and then opened the door to his side as well.

"Cameron!" he called out.

She turned around. "Yes?"

He didn't know how to say it, but he knew it had to be said. He wanted to ask her so many things, he wanted her to quell the absurd idea that he just erupted inside of him, but he knew that he couldn't ask her outright. She had been asked so many times, had said no so many times, he didn't want to pester her. He opened his mouth and then closed it slowly. "You – you know that if you ever need to talk about anything, you can talk to me, right?"

She stared at him a moment, and then nodded wordlessly and turned, scampering to her apartment building door.

He stared after her as she ran, but didn't call out to her again. The fog was beginning to clear in his mind, and he could see now that common denominator that directed the way that all those pieces had scattered. Maybe she wasn't nearly as unpredictable as he had thought. And maybe he was wrong, too, about the reason the pieces were scattered. Maybe it wasn't the miscarriage at all – or at least, that wasn't the main cause. Somehow, it became clear now, clear exactly what she had done and why, and why she had been so afraid to go into her apartment.

He didn't want to think about it, he didn't want to admit he had been wrong; it horrified and shocked and hurt that he could have missed something so important, so crucial. This was life or death and he had been too caught up in abating House to notice what was right under his nose the entire time. He pulled out his cell phone, fumbling with the numbers, until he had finally punched in the right combination. He listened to it ring, and then a deep voice answered.

"House."

"House, it's Wilson," he began shakily. He still couldn't believe he was saying this. "I – It's Cameron."

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She opened her door, let herself inside, and closed it quickly. Her apartment was dark; no one was there. She leaned her back against the door and let herself sink to the floor, her head in her hands.

How could she have been so stupid? She had nearly given herself away to Wilson just now. She hadn't been thinking straight. It was too much to hope for that Wilson wouldn't have noticed anything. He had to have noticed something. Wilson was sensitive. He was smart. He picked up on everything. He read people like he read books – avidly and attentively.

Her mind was so full it felt almost empty. She felt numb, unable to feel any more emotions because there were just so many to feel. They blocked each other out, canceling out all feeling inside of her. She didn't know what to think right now. She didn't know what she was supposed to do. She figured Wilson would probably tell someone about his suspicions, but she wasn't sure how she was supposed to feel about that. She knew somewhere in the numbing mess of feelings, she could draw upon them, but she was just too tired to sort through them all.

She was tired, so tired of everything. She wanted out of it all. She wanted to run and never look back. If only it were that easy – easy enough to break away from everything. If she could run and leave the miscarriage behind her, if she could run and leave Chase behind, and the suspicions, and the questions, and everything else she was just so damn tired of…she would.

It was never that easy. It was never going to be that easy. She was going to have to do something for herself, decide what she wanted to do. It was her choice now. She could wait for Chase to come back, or she could leave. She could run away. It was in her power to leave. She could leave, she could pack her stuff, she could run and never look back. She could move away, maybe she could move to the west coast, and maybe she could just disappear, and then she could just be gone. And it could be that easy.

She could leave, she was going to leave. She was going to get up and pack her things, and run away. She was going to leave without saying goodbye because that would just make it harder to leave. She could take her money and go to the airport and buy the first plane ticket out, and then never return. She could leave. She could be set free.

But she couldn't. She couldn't. She was a bird in a cage, a trapped bird in a tiny cage, and she was never going to be set free. He was always going to find her, he was going to hurt her, he was going to kill her if he got the chance. He wasn't just going to let her leave. He would always be after her. She was never going to be safe.

She staggered slowly to her feet, leaning on the door for support. She frowned when her hand touched something unfamiliar. It didn't feel like wood. She ran her fingers over it again. It definitely wasn't wood. She moved her fingers over to the wall and flicked the light switch. A scream escaped her lips.

Dried blood stained the door. It stained the door, it stained the walls, and it stained the floor. Bile rose in her throat and she couldn't even try to fight it down. Her blood mixed with the emptied contents of her stomach and she collapsed to the ground as her tears and everything else came rushing back to her.

Here it was again, another sign. This wasn't someone else's blood like she saw in her work at the hospital. This was her blood, _her blood_, and it was staining her floor. This was her blood and it had spilled from her because Chase had beaten her. She couldn't stay here, she _couldn't_ stay here! What if Chase came back and decided to beat her more? What if he killed her this time? This blood, this blood on the floor, this was how her baby had died. The baby had died in this attack, and here was the reminder. She was haunted. The death of her only child was ingrained on her floor, on her walls, on her door. She had _touched_ it. She had touched her own blood, the blood she had lost while she had been beaten unconscious and while her baby had been murdered.

She leapt to her feet, tears streaming down her face, and ran to her bedroom. She looked around the room quickly and then grabbed her car keys and her wallet from her dresser top. She didn't think to bring anything, but only knew she had to leave as quickly as possible. She had to get out of here. She couldn't be here any more. Maybe she would come back, and maybe she wouldn't, but she didn't are. All she knew was that she couldn't stay.

She was out the door moments later and dashing down the stairs. She was running blindly, running from anything and everything she could run from. She was so distracted she wasn't paying attention to where she was going. Cameron felt her breath escape her as she ran into something warm and solid.

"Cameron!"


	11. Help Me Help You

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing.

**A/N**: Thanks again to the wonderful reviewers from last time; I had great fun reading them. Hopefully you find this chapter as satisfying as the rest...It's a bit shorter than my recent ones, but it sets the stage for the ending. As always, please review as I love knowing what you think and reviews just make me happy. Oh, and wish me luck on my AP US History final tomorrow - that's what I should be studying for instead of updating this.

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"Cameron!"

He had been out the door moments after receiving the phone call. He wasn't entirely sure why he was going where he was going, but he knew that he had to see her. He didn't want to admit it to himself, but he was worried about her, he was worried for her, for everything that she might be feeling at the moment. And he was worried about what would happen if Chase found her. The miscarriage had affected both of them, affected both of them so painfully and so differently. It scared him.

He hadn't expected to see her so soon. He had expected to have to go up to her apartment and pound on her door, waiting for her to answer, and he wasn't even sure that she would have. Now she was racing down the stairs, so quickly she hadn't even seen where she was going. She ran right into him.

As soon as her body made contact with his, he grabbed her, holding onto her, trying to calm her as she struggled and thrashed in his arms. She was screaming, more so out of fear than anything else, he was sure, for he wasn't squeezing her very tightly.

"Shh, Cameron," he tried to calm her. "You'll wake the entire building!"

He wasn't sure if he heard what she had said, but he knew she had recognized his voice because she suddenly stopped struggling and instead threw her arms around his neck, burying her face in his chest. He felt all the fight drain out of her as she began to sob in his arms.

He shifted his weight uncomfortably, not sure what to say or even how to comfort her. He wasn't good with crying people. He wasn't good with emotion. He generally avoided emotion – his own, especially. Cameron was breaking down, sobs racking her small frame as she clung to him. He tried to shift his weight to his good leg, unable to support his weight and hers on his bad one.

"Cameron, come on," he urged her quietly. "Let's go up to your apartment, come on-"

She shook her head furiously. "Can't go back…I can't go back," she sobbed.

He tried to push her off of him gently, to get her to support her own weight, but she only clung harder. "Cameron, we can't stay here-"

"NO!" she exclaimed. She suddenly leapt from him and backed herself up against the wall on the opposite side of the stairwell, her eyes wide and frightened like she were a mouse that a cat had just cornered. She was staring at House with a mix of horror and fear in her eyes. "No, please!" she begged him. "Please don't make me go back!"

He felt something pulling at him as he saw her sobbing in front of him. This something was a strange feeling, surely not one he'd felt many times before – it was a feeling that could only be driven by emotion, the intense and painful emotion he was feeling at the moment, just looking at Cameron. To say his heart was aching would be a cliché, but he wasn't sure how else to describe it. It wasn't so much of an ache as a pain, and it wasn't so much as a pull as it was a shove. He wanted to help her. He had to help her. She was doing exactly what he had wanted her to do from the very beginning – she was calling out for help. She wanted his help.

He approached her slowly, not wanting to startle her or scare her, and wanting to appear reassuring as he limped towards her. He reached his arm out to her when he was about a foot away. "Come on," he said quietly.

She looked at him suspiciously. "Where…where are you taking me?" she asked hoarsely.

"My apartment," he answered. He cast his eyes around to make sure there was no one around, namely Chase, to have heard him. He wasn't disappointed. He looked back at Cameron. "Come on, let's go."

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She watched the dark shadows of trees pass her by as the car raced down the street. Panic and self doubt had forced her into silence and she was reduced to staring shamefully out the window. For all she had wanted to say before, now she didn't know what to say. She hadn't expected to run into anyone so soon. She wasn't sure what she had been planning on doing, whether she had planned to run to Wilson or House or Cuddy or maybe to nobody and just from everything, but now she found herself in the company of the one who had been suspicious the entire time, the one she had spent the entire week avoiding. And now she couldn't be more grateful to see him.

This was her chance and she was going to have to take it. She had been given opportunities before, but she hadn't done anything with them, hadn't done anything because she was too scared about what would happen afterward. She was still afraid, but now she was more afraid of what would happen if she said nothing at all.

They reached his apartment building and she stepped wordlessly out of the car as soon as he had pulled the key out of the ignition. He beckoned to her and led her up to his apartment, which was on the second floor. She had never been there before and any other time, she would have been interested in seeing where her eccentric boss lived, but for now, she pushed the thought from her mind.

They entered and he dropped the keys onto the table by the door with a loud clang. She jumped slightly at the loud noise that had broken their silence. He noticed her shudder.

"Thought that'd get your attention," he said nonchalantly. He limped over to the sitting room and lowered himself slowly down to the couch. She didn't move, unsure of what would be appropriate, but he saved her the moment of indecision. "Cameron, come here," he said softly.

His eyes were warm and welcoming, but they still carried looks of concern. She knew why: she was just seconds away from telling him everything. He knew it, she knew it, and there was no denying it. She could run away, but what good would that do? He would follow and she knew he would find her. She was making a decision and it might result in something terrible, but nothing could be worse than where she was right now. She had dug herself a hole and she had to stop digging. Then she had to climb back out.

She hesitated a split second longer, and then took a tentative step forward. When nothing happened, she let out a breath she hadn't realized she had been holding. She was one step closer to freedom, and the world hadn't gone up in flames. She wasn't dead. She was still standing, and he was still willing to help her.

She reached him and sank down onto the couch next to him, looking down at her hands. He reached out and tilted her chin so that her eyes met his.

"House," she whispered, surprised by his sudden contact.

His eyes were gentle, yet firm when he said, "Tell me everything."


	12. No Reason

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

**A/N:** Thanks for the great response to last chapter. My final went wonderfully - 96! As a result, here is an update, quite early! Please read and review; I love knowing what everyone is thinking.

**Dedication: **This chapter is for Hallie, for her inspiration and her continued commitment and love for this story. I can't do it without you!

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He was furious. No, he was beyond furious, but he was so far beyond furious that his fury was masked by disbelief, by hatred, and by just numb shock at what he had heard. He knew it was true, and yet it was so unbelievably different to hear her side of the story. To hear her tell him, to hear the words actually come out of her mouth and to see the tears actually slide down her cheeks, and to feel her racing heart beating against his chest as she shook and trembled in his arms…Those were things he had not been expecting. He had expected the bruises. He had expected the broken ribs. He hadn't expected the rape, but he had suspected it. He hadn't anticipated the reason this had started in the first place either.

It had started after that one-night stand. He had known they had slept together, and he had suspected she had been impaired somehow – he had thought alcohol, but now he knew it was drugs. She had made a mistake, from what he could tell. Chase just wasn't letting go. He thought she owed him something, something for taking advantage of him like that. And yes, she had taken advantage of him. Not in the way he had of her – no, he would never say Chase was justified because Cameron had only slept with him because she was stoned. No, what Chase did was much, much worse. There was simply no reason.

He slammed the tea kettle onto the stove without thinking and then paused, holding his breath for a moment, suddenly remembering he wasn't alone. He listened hard, but it didn't sound as though he had woken her up. He let out the breath slowly. It had been hard enough convincing her to stay (she had been insisting on getting a hotel) and then convincing her to take his bed (she had been insisting on the couch) and it wasn't until she tried to stand up and practically fainted from exhaustion right there that she had realized he was right.

The tea kettle began to whistle and he poured the hot water into a mug with a tea bag waiting. It was nearing eleven, but it was still too early for decaf. He wasn't tired anyway, his mind too wound up over Cameron's revelations. He wanted to call Cuddy to rub it in her face and Wilson to thank him for finally coming to his senses, but he knew it was too late to make either call. He wanted both of them wide awake for this.

He wondered vaguely where Chase was. Cameron had said she hadn't seen him, not that she was sorry. Truth be told, he wasn't really sorry either. He only wanted to know for his own peace of mind…and Cameron's. He wasn't really too concerned with how Chase was handling the news of the miscarriage, considering Chase had caused it. House hoped he was in as much pain as possible. It served him damn well right.

He suddenly froze, his mug halfway between the table it had been resting on and his lips. He frowned and listened intently. There it was again – a low moan. He hesitated, unsure if it would pass or if something worse would happen, but when Cameron suddenly screamed, he slammed his mug back onto the table, grabbed his cane, and hobbled to his room.

She hadn't screamed again, but she was writhing and whimpering on the bed. The covers were tangled around her body and as he approached her, he could see her hair was damp with sweat. "Cameron!" he said loudly. He grabbed her shoulder in an attempt to stop her trembling. "Cameron!"

She screamed again and tried to fight him off, but House clung on. He began shaking her more aggressively, trying to get her to wake up before she hurt herself or him. "Cameron, wake up!"

Her eyes snapped open and she gasped and panted. He saw her eyes flicker nervously around the dark and, at least to her, unfamiliar room. Finally they found him and some of the tension relaxed from her face. Then she burst into tears.

He felt dread rising inside of him again – he wasn't really the comforting type. But his newfound dread was being matched by a feeling of painful empathy…as though he could feel her pain. It was that same feeling as before, that feeling to help, that feeling that overwhelmed him and made him act in ways so uncharacteristic to his usual self. It urged him to do something, to say something comforting. She had just woken from a nightmare and she had probably thought the person shaking her was Chase.

He swallowed hard. "It's okay, Cameron," he said soothingly, remembering how she had calmed down for him last time because she had heard his voice and not Chase's. He shifted himself slightly so that he was sitting on the bed with her, unable to stand any more with his bad leg. He brushed her damp hair back from her eyes and traced circles on her arm gently. "It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you."

She whimpered slightly and then buried her face in his chest. He could feel her beginning to relax again as she wrapped her arms around his waist. He was in a slightly awkward position, but he found he didn't mind so much. It was comforting to lie there with her, to feel her fall asleep in his arms. It had been so long since he had had that feeling. He continued stroking her hair as he listened to her even breathing. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the headboard.

Although he hadn't wanted to admit anything earlier, he found himself wondering if maybe he did have feelings for her. Her hair was soft beneath his fingers and even though he wasn't looking at her now, he looked at her enough at work. She really was, as he had said, extremely pretty. But she had proved herself more than just a pretty face. She had the work ethic to match, and while he found that work ethic somewhat irksome in the way it completely differed from his own, she intrigued him. He found himself now, more than ever, attracted to her. Wilson would want him to move on. Wilson wouldn't want him to pine after Stacy, and he knew now that he would never have to. He wondered vaguely where this left him in terms of a relationship with Cameron. She had admitted attraction to him before, but was she still attracted to him now? And could she ever learn to trust a man again?

It wasn't fair, what had happened to her. No one deserved this, but especially not anyone like Cameron. It tore him up from the inside. Everything that had happened to her, everything, was the result of just one man. One man could rape her, he could abuse her, he could cause her to miscarry. He could give her nightmares. He could instill so much fear in her, he could force her to suffer in silence. He could have killed her.

He could have killed her. He could have ended her life, like he had ended the life of the unborn child. House shuddered at the thought and found himself unconsciously wrapping his arms tighter around Cameron's body. She looked so peaceful lying there, asleep in his arms. He wondered if this was her only sanctuary.

"I'll protect you, Cameron," he declared in a whisper, his voice breaking the silence that had fallen in the night. He pressed his lips to her forehead. "I'm not going to hurt you," he murmured.

He wasn't sure if he had fallen asleep, or simply lain there in such peaceful comfort that the time had gone by without him noticing, but the next thing he knew, he had bolted upright, his head flat against the headboard. He checked on Cameron: she was still sleeping with her arms wrapped around him. He breathed easier, wondering if his mind was playing tricks on him.

_Bang. Bang. Bang._

His eyes widened. His mind was not playing tricks on him. As quickly as he could, and still as gently as he could, he slid himself from Cameron's embrace. He paused a moment, hoping he hadn't woken her, but she was still asleep. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and grabbed his cane just as the pounding at his door increased in volume and speed.

He moved quickly to the door, not wanting Cameron to wake up. He reached his door and yanked it open.

"What?" he asked crankily, thinking no one that came to his door at this hour deserved niceties.

"Where is she?"

House's eyes opened wider and he felt anger course through his veins. "Get the hell out," he spat. He made to shut the door, but Chase stuck out his foot.

"I'm not playing games," he said thickly. House saw the flint of metal the split second before the gun shot resounded.


	13. Slow Motion

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

**A/N:** Sorry for taking a bit longer in updating this chapter. My muse was a little short in coming. Thanks again to the wonderful people the site calls reviewers, but whom I call day-makers (I made that word up - it's a bit late here, forgive me!). So make my day and review. I'd love to know what you think.

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Consciousness returned to him gradually, the slow progress torturing him as he struggled to make sense of what had happened. He could feel himself on the floor and his bad leg was paining him worse than it ever had. The pain was almost unreal…it felt like he had been shot. He tried to open his eyes, but squeezed them shut almost as quickly: the pain in his head was unlike anything else. Tentatively, he raised a hand to his head and brushed his fingers against his temple. He opened his eyes and examined the result. He wasn't surprised to see blood.

What had happened? The last thing he could remember seeing was Chase at his apartment door…and the last thing he could remember hearing was the gun shot. He groaned; had he been shot? Was that why his leg hurt so badly? He tried to move, but was forced to stop immediately for the pain. He chanced a glance at his leg and his eyes widened in shock. His leg had crumpled beneath him, but that wasn't the surprising part.

There was no blood.

There was no blood…so he hadn't been shot in his leg. He hadn't been shot _anywhere_: he couldn't have been shot in the head. A bullet hole in the wall confirmed his suspicions; the bullet had ricocheted and missed him. But how then had he ended up unconscious? And where was Chase?

The pieces came to him quickly, although he wasn't sure if they fit together or if he was forcing them. Chase had fired, he, House, had been knocked backward onto his leg, Chase had hit him on the head with the butt of the gun, causing him to pass out…but then where had Chase gone? Would he have left?

No…no, his soon-to-be former employer couldn't have left…He had come for Cameron, not for House. Dread filled his stomach. Cold dread, cold, hard dread that didn't just fill his stomach, but flooded it, consuming him from the inside out. Hollow hope filled him that maybe Chase had left, maybe Chase had run before the neighbors could call the cops. But House knew that wasn't true…the neighbors were never around (not that he had bothered to meet any of them). He hoped beyond hope – and it scared him beyond belief he could ever invest even a moment believing in something as futile as _hope_ – that Chase had left, had just given up hope that Cameron was there. Maybe he hadn't gone looking for her.

But then, maybe Chase hadn't had to go looking for her. Chase had fired a shot…surely Cameron had heard it? And if she had heard it…he groaned nervously. It would have been all too easy. Fear gripped him. He knew.

"HOUSE!"

A high-pitched, prolonged, anguished scream that resounded throughout the apartment. He knew where it came from and he knew who had screamed and he sure as hell knew why. He struggled to move, but the pain was too agonizing. He couldn't risk calling out and having Chase come back for more. He stopped, panting, leaning his bleeding head against the wall as his entire body shook.

"Shut up!" The unmistakable sound of a hand making contact with soft flesh followed by another scream.

"No! No – please!" Cameron was sobbing now. He could just imagine what the scene looked like. Chase leaning over Cameron, sweet, innocent, vulnerable Cameron. He pictured her eyes, wide and scared, pleading with him, pleading with him, though he would not relent. His face would be filled with hatred, anger, contempt. And determination. Raw determination.

She cried out in pain again and he gritted his teeth as another wave of pain washed over him. Her screams cut deep through his skin, sharpening the pain he was already feeling, yet still hardened his determination. He wasn't going to let him touch her again. He squeezed his eyes shut as he pulled himself into a sitting position, panting as he stopped to rest.

"You killed our baby!"

House frowned. That was Chase. Chase's angry yell, Chase's furious accusation. He growled low in his throat. How _dare_ he accuse her. How _dare_ he. Like Cameron would do anything, anything _ever_ to harm her baby. Anger flared inside of him, like a fire burning its way up to his chest. He bit hard on his lower lip as he pushed all of his weight onto his good leg.

"What?"

Her voice was brittle, broken; he had barely made out her words. He could just imagine the look of disbelief, of shock, hurt, and hidden anger on her face.

"Oh, stop crying!" Chase said angrily. The slap cracked like a whip in the tense air.

"No!" she screamed. "No, don't hurt me! Don't hurt me, please!" House shut his eyes, trying to block out all sound, not wanting to hear her beg any longer…

"House!" she cried out again. "House, please, help me! Please help me!"

He couldn't listen to her any more. His face set, he pushed with all of his weight on his good leg, and managed to regain his footing. His cane was lying a few feet away from him, but his leg was too painful for him to bend down again and pick it up. He limped as quickly as he could towards his bedroom.

"Shut up, Cameron!" The sound of a fist making contact with bare skin. "I said SHUT UP!"

Cameron sobbing, she was sobbing so loudly…

House steeled himself forward, using all of his willpower to just keep moving. He couldn't put any weight on his bad leg, he soon found, and was reduced to dragging it along behind him.

""NO!" A long, drawn out, high pitched scream. "No, Chase, please!"

He paused as he passed the kitchen. That was his only phone between here and the bedroom. He didn't want to take any more time, but he knew something should be done; what if he and Cameron couldn't make it out of there? As quickly as he could, he hobbled to the phone and picked up the receiver.

Another slap. "HOUSE!"

"911, what is your emergency?"

The sounds of a struggle were ringing in his ears. He tried to force images of what could be happening from his mind's eye as he tried to concentrate, but he was failing, failing miserably. He saw Cameron beaten again and again…her head flopping limply to one side…her blood flowing over his sheets…

"Hello? Is there anyone there? Can you hear me?"

And then there was silence. He was drawing out the gun again…he was standing over her unconscious form…he had his hand on the trigger…_bang_…_bang_…

"CAMERON!"

The receiver slipped from his hand as all thoughts of calling the police were forgotten. He couldn't think, couldn't rationalize, could do nothing else but race blindly to the bedroom. His mind was playing tricks on him, maybe, but last time he thought his mind had been playing tricks on him, he had ended up nearly getting shot. He tried to push the mental image of her lying dead on his bed from his mind, but he couldn't do it, couldn't get rid of it, not until he saw for himself what had happened…

"Cameron – no!"


	14. Miscommunication

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing.

**A/N**: My muse is a very strange being and does very strange things. I didn't intend to update so soon, nor did I intend originally to write this chapter the way it ended up written. But...erm...enjoy it, I guess! I look forward to your reviews; thanks to everyone that reviewed last time. I really appreciate it.

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"Cameron – no!"

She was lying on her back, stripped down from her sweatshirt to her tank top and panties. He was relieved to see that they were still on her; Chase hadn't succeeded in raping her again. But his relief was short-lived. She was bleeding, just like she had been in his mind. Her red blood was soaking into his sheets, forming dark red puddles around her. Her right arm hung limply from the bed and red droplets of blood fell to his carpeted floor. He took a tentative step closer. Her eyes were closed and he could see bruises already forming on her face.

"Cameron!" he called loudly. "Cameron, can you hear me?"

She didn't respond. Fear tightened its grip around him. She was lying in a pool of blood and she was non-responsive. He swallowed the lump that was forming in his throat and took another step forward, intent on pressing his fingers to her neck however much it killed him that there may be nothing there. House had almost reached the end of the bed when he spoke.

"Stop."

He looked towards the source of the voice. Chase was standing on the other side of the bed, his gun in hand and aimed at House. He fought the urge to lunge at Chase – what stopped him more than common sense was the pain in his leg. He gripped the short bedpost for support.

Chase walked towards him now, and House was frozen to the bedpost, unable to move. He stared at Chase with a hatred he had never felt for anyone else before. He thought he knew what humans could do to each other, but he had been wrong. He had been so wrong. It would never amaze him how terribly humans could hurt one another. He looked back at Cameron on the bed and felt a mixture of anger and dread well in his throat. He had to know.

"Is she dead?"

"I don't know," answered Chase.

"What do you mean you _don't know_?" House asked furiously. The lump of dread in his throat thickened.

Chase shrugged. "I don't care."

"How can you not care?" House winced as another wave of pain hit his leg and his knuckles turned white as his grip on the bedpost tightened. "Don't you care what happens to her?"

"Why would I?"

"It matters to you if she's dead," House said slowly, "because if she is, you're going down for murder. And it matters to me because if she's dead, I'll be short a fellow."

Chase laughed, a cold, calculated laugh that didn't reach his eyes. "Like that's all you care about, House. I'm not going to buy that crap. You _love_ her."

At first he was shocked, and denial wormed its way through his thoughts. But then he stopped himself. Could he honestly way the answer was no? Was that what the lump in his throat was telling him? Was that why he could feel her pain as though it were his own? Was that why he had allowed her to fall asleep in his arms the night before, even though it was so uncomfortable on his bad leg? Was that why he now stared at her lifeless form with such fear in his heart and such hatred in his eyes for the man standing before him?

"Do you love her?"

For the first time, House could detect a human quality in Chase. The younger doctor had just a trace – almost an invisible trace, but a trace nonetheless – of remorse. He suspected that at one point, Chase had loved Cameron, or at least had wanted her. But Cameron had never reciprocated; she had only wanted him, House, or she wanted no one at all, too consumed by her work. But Chase, Chase was different. He had wanted her. He had been drawn to her beauty, and he had been forced to accept rejection. He obviously didn't accept it well.

"Would you please – please just see if she's alive?" House asked painfully.

Chase shook his head. "No."

"Come on!" House said impatiently. The only thing worse than knowing was not knowing. "Just press two fingers to her neck and tell me if her heart's still beating." Chase shook his head again.

"Why are you doing this?" House exclaimed angrily. "Why - ?"

"You want to know why I'm doing this, House?" Chase interrupted. He leaned forward. I'm doing this because I love her."

"_This_ is how you love her? By beating her to death?"

"She deserved that. She brought that on herself."

"What?"

"The first time, it was an accident," Chase said softly. "I just – I just lost control, I don't know. I had been drinking. I was pissed off. I just – I don't know. But I promised never to do it again. And she forgave me.

"But it – uh – it got worse. But she deserved everything she got from me because she was a manipulative little bitch. She slept with me and then dumped me. She seduced me and then expected me to just leave. It doesn't work that way. I owned her because she was just too damn scared to stand up for herself. She was too weak to get out of the relationship. She could have left if she had wanted to."

House couldn't swallow what Chase was saying, but he saw no point in arguing back. His leg was paining him worse than ever, pain so strong it was almost blinding. He forced himself to remain conscious, for Cameron. He had to help her, even if she was beyond his help. How much time had passed since he had entered the room? What if it was that time that made the difference between her living and dying?

For the first time, he regretted not completing the 911 call. He hoped irrationally that maybe, just maybe, he had been on the line long enough for them to get his location. Maybe they had even heard him yell. If they heard the gunshots, then surely they would send someone…anyone who could help them…

He swallowed the lump again. "And this?" he asked, staring at his hands on the bedpost to avoid looking at Chase. There was no answer. House looked up.

Chase was standing over Cameron, the gun aimed at her chest. "This?" he repeated slowly. "She deserved this because she murdered our baby."

"How'd she do that?"

"She couldn't keep him alive. That was her job. She was too weak to carry our child, and so she let him die."

"Chase, please, calm down," House began slowly. "Just listen to me, please." Chase's irrational anger was making him very nervous. The man was scared, and scared men tend to do very stupid things.

"I'm already going to jail," Chase muttered. "What does it matter if it's for life or thirty years?"

"NO!" House's cry was lost as the gun shot sounded.

He lunged forward, despite Chase's previous warning not to. But this time, Chase didn't say anything, but instead stumbled back in shock.

House heaved himself onto the bed, unable to stand any longer on only his good leg. He placed his knees on either side of Cameron and pressed his hands to her bleeding abdomen. Her blood slipped through his fingers quickly; his hands enough could not control the bleeding. He looked wildly around the bed and found her sweatshirt lying a few feet away. With a huge effort, House grabbed it and pressed it firmly against her open wound. His hand shaking, he then pressed two fingers to her neck. Nothing. He pressed harder. Still nothing.

"Come on," he murmured. "Come on, come on!"

He looked back at Chase. The other doctor was white-faced and scared. "Are you happy now?" House spat at him.

Chase's reply was lost in the wail of sirens.


	15. White Flag

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

**A/N:** I'm sorry for the long wait, everyone. Thanks, as always, for the wonderful reviews for the last chapter. They were quite enjoyable to read. I know I left you with a bit of a cliffhanger, but here's your resolution. Please review and tell me what you think. I'll try to take less time with the next update, which will be my last for this story. Enjoy!

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He hated playing the waiting game. He wasn't entirely sure why it was called the waiting _game_, since he had never played anything less like a game in his life, but he was sure that he was playing it nonetheless. He assumed – he didn't know since he had never "played" this game before – that the game involved something like contorted panic in the pit of his stomach and a constant stream of questions and accusations crowding out all other thoughts in his mind. If that was the game, then he was certainly playing.

And he was winning, oh, how he was winning! As he stared at her unmoving form, he felt the panic exploding inside of him, like a wave he just couldn't control. And he absolutely hated not being in control. His mind was working overtime, furiously flying from one question to another accusation and another, and he couldn't keep anything straight anymore. He lowered his head to his hands, trying to clear his mind, but there was so little clarity to be found.

The last hours had passed as a blur. Some officer had told him blandly that it had been a neighbor that had called 911 after hearing shouting. He didn't even know who the neighbor was, since he didn't know any of his neighbors, but he was grateful anyway. After the police arrived, an ambulance had been called, and he, Chase, had finally been arrested. Even without the domestic abuse charges, they had him cold for attempted murder. Or, if they couldn't prove that (and House had no idea why they wouldn't be able to), they had him solid for assault. Either way, his ass was going to jail for a long time.

Somehow that knowledge brought him little to no comfort at all. Chase may be going to jail, but that didn't change what had happened. Nothing could change it. Cameron was alive – barely, he was told – but to what end, no one was sure. He couldn't take the waiting. He was not a patient person, and this was the longest wait of his life.

How he wished he could just shake her awake and talk to her. He couldn't stand sitting there, unable to say anything, his tongue frozen to the roof of his mouth. He couldn't stand the thought of his words falling upon deaf ears – he didn't want to talk to the wall, or to the bed, or to her still form. He wanted to talk _with_ her, not _to _her. He wasn't about waste his breath talking to the tense air around her. He had so many things to say to her; they welled up inside of him, each fighting to be said first, but he had a sinking feeling that none of them would be said at all.

If he could talk to her, the first thing he would do would be to apologize. He wasn't one for apology, but somehow he felt the useless "I am sorry" was completely necessary. Somehow those three useless words strung together in that one useless sentence summed up everything that he was feeling. Remorse. Regret. He felt this compulsive need to apologize, as though the words could make up for everything that he had done wrong. Strangely, he had done more – so, so much more – than everyone else around him, and he still found himself feeling guilty. Maybe it was because it was her blood on his hands, or maybe it was because he blamed himself for not being able to save her sooner…he didn't know. But he did know one thing: it was too late for apology. Apology wasn't going to save her now, wasn't going to make anything better. Hell, it probably wouldn't even make him feel better.

A few days ago, he would have been so happy to have been right. He had been right about everything, about the withdrawal, about the abuse, about Chase. He had been right, and everyone else had been wrong; he had seen what they all had not, and that feeling usually brought him so much pleasure. He felt empty now because the feeling brought him nothing but pain. What did being right matter any more? When Wilson or Cuddy had come in to see Cameron, he couldn't even bring himself to mention that he had been right. He couldn't even look them in the eye when they apologized for not noticing (not that that acknowledgement changed anything either) and said that he was right. It was all so futile in the end.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

So futile, so, so damn futile.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was dark. She moved her head slightly, trying to shake the darkness from her eyes, but then she realized that it was night. The moonlight cascaded into the room, illuminating the figure asleep in the chair next to her bedside. From her position, she couldn't get a good enough view to see who it was, but whoever it was hadn't noticed that she was awake.

She was awake. She was so surprised to find herself alive; she had been sure she was going to die when she saw Chase enter the room. She had been afraid, she had been so, so afraid. The cliché was true: her life had flashed before her eyes. Her mind unwillingly showed her pictures of her past, random images that made no sense at the time, and it was so strange because she was trying to survive, not trying to remember. She shuddered, remembering the overwhelming feeling of fear.

She had screamed for House, and he had not come. She had fought with Chase, trying as hard as she could to keep him off of her, to keep him from firing that shot at her, but she hadn't succeeded, on either count. She didn't even know if House was alive – the last thing she remembered before Chase entered the room was hearing a gun shot and a loud thud as something heavy hit the ground. Fear gripped her immediately – what had happened to House?

She sat up immediately, fully alert and ready to badger the person asleep in the chair next to her as to House's whereabouts, but as soon as she shifted her angle, she froze. The person in the chair _was_ House; he _was_ alive. She stared at him, taking in his sleeping form hungrily with her eyes, as though she would never see him again. She felt tears welling in her eyes as she watched him sleep. She had been so afraid for a moment that he had died.

Studying him carefully through her tears, she noticed that he hadn't even been shot. There were no bandages or anything. His head was resting against the back of the chair, his neck bent in an awkward position that Cameron knew must have been very uncomfortable. She was touched he was actually there. He was always there, always so dependently there. He must have been there, in the apartment the entire time, trying to get to her. That must have been true; she wouldn't have survived if someone hadn't put pressure on her wound. He had saved her life.

She blinked furiously, but she couldn't stop the tears from falling down her cheeks. He had saved her life. Her life had needed saving. She had been so scared, so afraid of never seeing him again, and here he was. She couldn't contain her emotions any longer. All of her fear, the fear she had been feeling for weeks, for months, was finally able to be released, and she just couldn't stop crying. She covered her mouth with her hands as she shook with quiet sobs. It was all too much, it was just too much.

She felt something warm around her shoulders and someone's warm embrace. She hadn't even realized how loud she had been crying – she had been trying to keep her sobs quiet, but after awhile, she stopped trying. She turned her body so that she was facing House and then buried her face in his chest, unable to do anything more than simply surrender to his embrace. She could feel him stroking her hair, murmuring words of comfort to her, and she let out a small sigh as she curled up closer to him. She finally felt safe again.


	16. And the Truth Will Set You Free

**Disclaimer:**I, as always, own nothing.

**A/N:** Here it is, everyone! The final chapter - epilogue - of **Don't Ask, Don't Tell**. Thanks to the reviewers from last time; you all made my week! Enjoy, as always.

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_Seven months later…_

The air around her was so tense, it threatened to choke her. No one in the room made a sound, the silence so pronounced that it was deafening. She sat stock still, her hands twisting in her lap as she tried desperately to distract herself from what was about to come. She didn't know how she was supposed to act. She knew she couldn't be the only one in the room who was nervous. She just wanted the answer, but she knew she wouldn't be able to bear it if it were the wrong one…

"Has the jury reached a verdict?"

"We have, Your Honor."

She exhaled slowly. Of course they had. She wanted these procedural questions over and done with. She was tired of procedure. She was tired of rules, and laws, and statutes. She was tired of police, of detectives, of prosecutors and defense attorneys. She was ready to be done. She wanted it all to end.

The last seven months had been heaven and hell combined. If she were religious, she supposed she would have called it purgatory, the place she waited for the decision of whether she'd spent the rest of her time in heaven or hell. She had been dragged through hellish questioning, by the police, then the prosecutor, and then, finally, the defense attorney. She had been waiting for this moment, the moment when it could all finally just be over, or a very long time.

But the past seven months had not been all bad; she looked at the man sitting next to her and knew she could never condemn every moment of the last seven months. He had been there, just been there, so firmly and dependably there, the entire time. He had offered her space in his apartment when she had been unable to return to her own. He had comforted her in the late hours of the night when she had been woken up by nightmares. He had made her breakfast and taken her to dinner, and had treated her like she really meant something to him.

He looked at her now, eyes soft and gentle. She knew he could sense her discomfort, her utter and unending desire to make it just all go away. She knew he wished he could make it all go away for her, but they both knew that wasn't going to happen. She looked back at her hands, concentrating on her fingers, waiting, just waiting…

"On the first count, domestic violence, how do you find?"

"Wait!"

She looked up, startled. She could feel the weight of the court room pressing upon him, the judge staring at him through stern eyes. She felt her breath catch in her throat and she struggled to exhale. Her heartbeat quickened and she felt moisture building on her upper lip. What was he doing? This was certainly against procedure…

If she hadn't been so uncomfortable, she would have laughed out loud at the absurdity of it all. There she had been, mere moments earlier, wishing that procedure could never slow time again, and here she was, mere moments later, praying that procedure could make time fly. She didn't want to know what he was doing, and she certainly wished he would just be quiet. Why had he picked now, _now_, of all times to interrupt?

"Mr. White, please control your client -"

"No!" he insisted frantically. "No – Your Honor, please! I – I just wanted to say that I'm sorry. I just – I just –" He turned directly to her now. "Allison – I'm sorry!"

She felt as though all of the air had been sucked from her lungs. She opened her mouth and closed it a few times, unable to form a sound. She felt the room spinning; she couldn't breathe. She blinked once, twice, trying to clear her mind, but she couldn't focus…

"Sit down, Dr. Chase!"

The courtroom murmured its disgust. She tried to swallow, to blink, to make her body do anything, but she was frozen. She couldn't move…she couldn't think…

Suddenly, she felt a firm grasp on her hand. Startled, she looked down. House squeezed her fingers gently, sending a wave of comfort and warmth over her. Her eyes met his for a brief moment and he stared back at her, urging her silently to calm down, to breathe. _It will be all right_, he told her. _He can't hurt you here_.

"I made a mistake, I'm sorry!" he continued frantically. "I should never have touched you – I know! I didn't mean to hurt you -"

The courtroom erupted into loud protests. The judge banged the gavel several times. "Order, order!" he insisted. "Dr. Chase, be seated, or I shall have your removed from my courtroom!"

She saw him open and close his mouth stupidly a few times before sinking back into his chair. She turned away before she saw the desperate look that he sent her way.

"On the first count, domestic violence, how do you find?"

"We find the defendant…guilty."

She felt House squeeze her hand again and she sighed audibly in relief. She felt as though a huge weight had been lifted from her chest. Finally, after so long, after so many months, someone believed her. Twelve people believed her, and they were punishing him for it. All the times she had spent living in fear…all the nights she had lain awake crying silently into her pillow…all the times she had begged God, should he exist, to save her…after all that time, she was finally saved. They finally believed her. She was no longer an empty entity, just a pretty face with a pretty body…she had a voice, and the law had finally heard it. They had finally listened to her.

"On the second count, attempted murder, how do you find?"

"We find the defendant…guilty."

She closed her eyes and then opened them again to make sure she wasn't dreaming. She let go of a long breath she hadn't even realized she had been holding and squeezed House's hand back. He nodded his approval and she returned his nod with a weak smile.

"No!"

The cry darted her attention back to Chase. He was staring at his high profile defense attorney with a look of incredulity on his face. She could see the defense attorney was trying to calm him down, but wasn't getting too far. The court officers were placing his hands behind his back, locking them securely with the handcuffs. They began walking towards the exit.

He passed where she was sitting and managed to catch her eye. She felt her body tense, and she stared back at him as resolutely as possible. She could see many emotions in his eyes. She could see fear dilating his pupils and shock and disbelief etched in his corneas. She could see him pleading with her, pleading with her to forgive him, to help him, to release him. He opened his mouth to say something, but she shook her head ever so slightly.

"It's too late to apologize," she whispered.

His eyes widened, but before he could say or do anything else, the officers forced him away. He shot her one last look of desperation before turning his back to her for the final time.

-END-

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

I can't believe we've finally reached the end. Seeing this story finished, I'm filled with a mix of excitement and sadness, and I'm not sure if I should be proud or sad, so I guess I'll be both.

When I first began DADT, I had no idea what it was going to turn in to. It was not originally a story about domestic violence. In fact, I had this idea, this strange idea, question maybe, that popped into my head: "What if Chase raped Cameron?"

Of course, by now, you can all see where this is going. Domestic violence was one of three options I posed to myself, and I ended up choosing it because I thought it would give me the most possibilities. I did have extensive knowledge of domestic violence, having debated the topic for two months last year, so I thought I'd combine my knowledge and my ideas and produce this piece you now see before you.

I struggled throughout writing DADT to keep Cameron as close as possible to a victim of repeated domestic violence. I found that characterization infinitely easier than trying to write Chase as an abuser. It struck me early on that this was definitely would not happen on the show for Chase – some of you reviews consider my portrayal of Chase as OOC – and that made my writing more difficult. One of my biggest regrets with this story was making Chase Cameron's abuser. Halfway through, I knew if I could have gone back and done it again, the abuser would have been some original character that I just made up. By that point, I figured I might as well continue and finish what I had started.

Writing this piece has been one of the most amazing experiences for me. I had no idea that it was going to be this popular. To those of you that reviewed this story, whether it was every chapter, or just once, positive feedback, or even the flames, I thank you. To those of you that gave me compliments, you kept me going, you gave me motivation, and you made me _want_ to write. To those of you that gave me criticism, thank you. You kept me in my place, whether you know it or not, and you forced me to remember to keep it real.

There will be no sequel to DADT, no matter how many times you ask me for one. If I've disappointed you, I'm sorry. I just don't think that I could write a decent sequel for this story. Rest assured, however, that I am not done writing House fanfiction. My next piece, entitled **Ten Days in October**, will probably be up sometime in late May. If you're interested in reading, I suggest you put me on your author alerts so you'll be the first to know when I get it up!

I believe that's all I have to tell you. If you have any additional questions or comments about DADT, feel free to post them in a review, and I will get back to you. Thank you all again for sticking with me through this long journey; I could not have done it without you!

-holadios


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